Return to a New Place
by Nefhiriel
Summary: Sequel to The Wrong One. Legolas & Aragorn are sent to Laketown to affirm a treaty. Predictably, they run into complications—in the form of an elusive stalker.
1. Making Old Enemies

**Return to a New Place**

_By Nefhiriel _

**Rating: **PG-13

**Genre: **Suspense/Angst

**Characters: **Aragorn, Legolas, Elladan, Elrohir, Elrond, Thranduil, and (briefly) Glorfindel

**Summary: **Sequel to The Wrong One. Legolas & Aragorn are sent to Laketown to affirm a treaty. Predictably, they run into complications—in the form of an elusive stalker.

**Disclaimer:** I'm afraid that, just like all the rest of you, I can't claim to own any part of Middle Earth, or it's amazing characters. The only characters I can claim as my own are my OCs (Dolenil, Dinerion, etc…). If for any reason you would like to use my characters please ask permission. I don't anticipate swarms of people begging to use my superfluous creations, but if you do like them, please ask for permission before using them ;-)

**A/N: **Well...here it is: the highly belabored sequel to _The Wrong One_. I don't think that it is necessary to have read _The Wrong One _in order to understand the gist of this story, but I think you'll "get" some things a lot more quickly if you have ;-)

_A special thanks to** Imbecamiel **__who's been for me beta, best friend, and the gentlest of critics. __Hannon le, muinthel._

**

* * *

****Chapter 1: Making Old Enemies **

"Thank you for meeting with me." The dark-haired man smiled warmly at the younger man across the table from him.

"Well, you _are _paying me to do this." The voice of the second man was low and smooth, holding in it a singular air of unwavering confidence and self-sufficiency. His shoulder-length blond hair and obvious youth contrasted strikingly with his suave, experienced demeanor.

"True, but even so, you do me a great honor in lending me your distinguished services." His older companion leaned forward, forced, because of the bustling tavern around them, to raise his voice to be heard, despite its already deep quality.

"Ah, but my friend, it is _I _who am honored."

The dark-haired man laughed. "And what honor can a simple man like myself possibly give a man of Kadrin Númair's legendary skill?"

"You give me the honor of presenting me with prey worthy of my efforts." A gleam entered the younger man's clear, ice-filled, blue eyes, and the unfortunate man across from him found himself the victim of their mesmerizing intensity.

The older man asked seriously, "Then you accept?"

The other man's grin had an eerie quality to it. "Of course."

"Keep a close watch on him. There's no knowing when he'll decide to depart from that elf-haven he so stubbornly refuses to leave…" It was easy to read the annoyance in his last statement.

"Do not worry," Kadrin assured him. "I did not get to the place I am now by being impatient. I know how to wait, and to watch."

"Yes, of course you do." The man sighed wearily, nodding his head slowly. "Forgive me, I'm sure you do not need my advice to carry through on the job you do so well." The blond-haired man nodded his acceptance of both the praise and apology. "I have unfinished…business…to attend to, but then I shall find you."

"I do not mean to pry, my friend, but if this 'unfinished business' pertains to the matter at hand…" Kadrin tilted his head inquiringly. "It is rarely necessary in my line of work to know all the facts, but I've found that it can make things easier to at least know where your employer will be. It is best to gather all the facts you can before you wage a war."

"Yes, I understand. The business I go to take care of has nothing to do with what I'm hiring you for. The details are irrelevant, but my unfortunate cousin has managed to get himself into jail." He laughed and added dryly, "I suppose I _am_ duty-bound to retrieve my only living relative from the clutches of the law."

Kadrin raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Naturally."

"As soon as I have 'retrieved' him, I'll make sure he's off my hands and return to give you further instructions. I hope to take care of my cousin quickly, but if the…quarry…should leave before I return, follow him."

"I will not let him escape. It is not every day I get the pleasure of having an elf for my prey."

0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0

Aragorn watched the light snow drift listlessly down through the still afternoon air. There wasn't a hint of wind to disturb its steady descent. It gave the vast woods that surrounded him an almost ethereal glow as it settled along the branches of the trees and dusted the forest floor with a clean, untainted sheet of white.

Glancing around him, the dark-haired ranger eagerly scanned the wintry landscape. The memories of the blindness he'd experienced a few months ago still remained vividly fresh in his mind. He would never forget the experience. And he didn't _want_ to. Somehow, remembering how dark his future could have been made the present sights seem all the brighter. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. At times it proved rather difficult to keep that sentiment while a coldly silent elf rode watchfully behind you.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Dolenil had ridden out from Rivendell, and for some time had been leisurely making their way towards Mirkwood. Legolas had easily convinced Aragorn to come with him on a "relaxing" trip to Mirkwood, to help him forget, and recover from, all he'd been through. Elrond's face had become very weary and tired looking when they'd announced their intended "quiet trip" to Legolas' home. Yes, Elrond really looked like _he _was more in need of the vacation than any of them…

Now they were right at the heart of Mirkwood, and with the lazily drifting snow falling around them, the forest seemed to be at the height of its beauty. Aragorn rode next to Legolas, with the faithful Dolenil ever riding behind them, his penetrating, cold gaze sending shivers down the human's back. Aragorn remembered the morning he'd first met Dolenil in Rivendell. Despite Dolenil's attempts to obey his prince's request to "give the human a chance", things hadn't changed between them very much. Dolenil still had the uncanny ability to scare Aragorn half out of his wits without so much as saying a word. Sometimes Aragorn thought that was just the problem: Dolenil hardly ever spoke to him. He just rode back there, ominously silent…

He brushed these thoughts away. These were just the kind of thoughts he wanted to avoid right now. He was going to _relax_. Besides, Dolenil, for all his watching, wasn't going to get the satisfaction of knowing the effect he was having upon him. Still, sometimes he thought that Dolenil was just waiting to see him…

_To see you what?_ An inner-voice mocked him._ Fall off your horse? Leap at Legolas and attempt to strangle him? _

He nearly rolled his eyes in irritation. No, he wasn't going to think these ridiculous thoughts. At the moment he was riding, side by side with his best friend, through a beautiful woods, on his way to a relaxing and well-earned break. And he wasn't going to let Dolenil, or any other elves who decided to take up unwarranted grudges against him, ruin his happiness.

With renewed determination not to pay attention to Dolenil, Aragorn returned to watching, as each new sight was revealed from behind the curves of the path. Dolenil was easy enough to forget. All around him the new snow sparkled as rays of sunlight, diligently seeking the forest floor through gaps in the tree branches, fell upon it. The horses' breathing created small puffs of white as it came into contact with the frigid air. He enjoyed the slightly damp, but crisp, smell of the freshly fallen snow.

Legolas smiled as he watched his friend, who was so obviously enraptured with the snow. He, too, enjoyed seeing the woods he loved so much looking so beautiful. But right now, he derived even more pleasure from just watching Aragorn, whose eyes were literally glowing with excitement. With that look of anticipation on his face, he looked more like Estel, out on his first hunt, and less like Aragorn, future king of Gondor. He wished that Estel hadn't grown up so quickly. He was proud of his friend, of all that he would become, and all that he had already become. Still, he wished that things could go on forever like they were now… But, like Aragorn, Legolas interrupted his serious thoughts, and turned them back onto lighter subjects.

He looked back to his friend. Aragorn was still ecstatically viewing his surroundings, as if he really was on his first hunting trip.

"You have certainly been quiet, mellon-nín. You've hardly said a word in the last hour." Legolas said, pulling Aragorn's attention to himself.

"Hmm?" Aragorn turned to him, looking almost startled, "I'm sorry, Legolas. It's just, the snow is so beautiful… I just can't seem to tear my eyes away."

"Yes, so I've noticed." Legolas smiled.

Legolas saw the ranger stiffen, his gaze on the forest hardening. "What is it?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Nothing, it's just, for a moment there I thought I saw something…" Aragorn stopped, abruptly changing the subject. "How long would you say until we reach the Palace?"

"We'll be there within the hour." Legolas cooperatively allowed the subject to turn to another topic. "So mellon-nín, do you think we'll be able to escape any trouble and have a _relaxing _trip this time?"

"Hmm." Aragorn paused to consider the question. "Who knows. It certainly is a possibility—just look how far we've come so far, without so much as a scratch!"

Legolas laughed and slowly shook his head.

"What?" Aragorn questioned the laughing elf indignantly, "What's so funny?"

"You!"

"Yes? What about _me_?"

"Even in the most improbable things, you insist on hoping for the best."

"Well it could happen!" the ranger defended his case.

"It _could _happen, yes—and Elladan and Elrohir could sign a permanent peace treaty." He grinned, "You're ridiculously optimistic, mellon-nín. Just face it: we are, in all likelihood _never _going get back from _any _trip without one of us sustaining injury of some kind."

"Yes, I agree."

"Really, you should just concede—" Legolas stopped mid-sentence as he realized that his friend wasn't arguing with him. "You agree?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, I agree. We will, in all _likelihood, _never return to our homes without one of us being injured. But that's only a _probability_, and it still leaves open many, many possibilities…"

"Incurable optimist." Legolas sighed in fond exasperation and returned to watching the trail as its familiar windings unfolded.

"Well, if it is unlikely that we will ever escape without injury, you have to take part of the blame, Legolas."

"Oh, do I, human?"

"Don't you start up with that innocent voice, _elf_!" Aragorn said imperiously. "We've both got the oddest, most annoying luck, and it's that strange combination which is responsible for our troubles. Admit it!"

"And just _why _do I have to admit anything, human?"

"Legolas, quit being so condescending—and quit calling me 'human' in that irritating tone of voice!"

"I don't like the way you said 'strange' combination. If it is a strange combination, than it must be you that makes it so…"

"Legolas, please!"

"'Please' what?"

"_Please_ quite acting like such a…a…"

"Yes?" Legolas lifted an eyebrow and continued watching the path with maddening calmness of demeanor.

Aragorn growled something undistinguishable, and the dark look on his face finally made Legolas erupt into laughter. The human rolled his eyes.

"Could you _possibly _make yourself more companionable, elf? After all, I don't think that Lord Elrond would appreciate your making this trip anymore strenuous for me than necessary. I _am_ only just recovering."

"So he finally he admits it!" Legolas said triumphantly shooting the stoic Dolenil a smile. "You are a witness of this historic moment, Dolenil."

"And to what have I just admitted?" Aragorn asked, his expression, if possible, turning a shade darker.

"Why, you just admitted that you actually _had_ something to recover _from_ in the firstplace." Aragorn fell silent. "What? Nothing to say?"

"No." Aragorn said in a low voice, "It seems that every time I say anything, a _certain _elf twists my words around until they confuse even me."

Legolas laughed and Aragorn turned from the conversation. Soon Legolas' laughter began to sound a little uncertain. Finally he faltered, and they all rode in silence.

"Mellon-nín?" Legolas tried to catch a glimpse of his friend's averted eyes. "Are you really…That is, have I…"

Aragorn was not doing him any favors by acknowledging that he understood what Legolas was trying to say. He didn't so much as look at the elf. Legolas cleared his throat.

"Aragorn, are you really mad at me?"

Silence.

Legolas was really getting a little concerned now.

"Estel?"

Legolas almost missed the smirk on Aragorn's face as he suddenly turned his face away.

"Strider!"

Aragorn laughed. "If you keep on like that, you'll have used all my names up before long – and considering the number of names I've accumulated, that is quite an accomplishment."

Legolas' concern was giving way to irritation.

"Then you _weren't _mad."

"Oh no, I _was_ mad, I just can't stay mad for very long with you remorsefully asking my forgiveness and half falling off your horse, trying to get a look at my face."

"I was _not_ half falling off my horse!"

Aragorn just laughed harder.

"Very well." Legolas quit glaring and gave a slight nod of concession. "You've had your revenge, mellon-nín—do you feel better now?"

"Much better."

"How do I ever put up with you, Estel?"

Aragorn's only reply was a self-satisfied grin. Legolas shook his head and smiled as well. He decided that is was most definitely time to change the subject. It would be best to do it while he was more or less still ahead and, if only barely, in control of things.

"We're almost there," he pointed out, immediately bringing Aragorn out of his state of smug complacency.

Sure enough, they soon began to catch glimpses of the Palace through the snow-laden boughs of the trees. Within minutes they were passing through the gates and into the courtyard.

Aragorn and Legolas eagerly jumped down from their horses. Dolenil dismounted at a less hurried, and far more dignified speed, and turned to Legolas.

"If you'll excuse me, hir-nín, I have a few things to attend to."

"Of course, Dolenil."

He bowed deeply to Legolas, "My prince." he bowed formally, but without feeling, to Aragorn, "My Lord Estel." And then he left them.

The two of them proceeded towards the entrance. As they reached the door, Aragorn, who was in front, held back and unexpectedly stepped to the side. "My Prince…" The ranger swept his arm and bowed in a dramatic gesture of respect as he stepped deferentially out of the doorway.

"Estel, don't you _dare _start."

"Start what, hir-nín?" Aragorn smiled innocently before darting hurriedly through the door, skillfully avoiding a playful swat from Legolas. "This way, my Prince," he tauntingly mocked Legolas over his shoulder.

The unfortunate prince walked after the human with a calm, but brisk, step, and a menacingly dark face.

"Estel, come back here!"

* * *

**TBC...**

**There you go! If things go as planned, Ishould be updating this story at least once a week. Next Saturday, I'll be posting Chapter 2, "Volunteering for Trouble". I hope that all the kind friends who've been asking after this aren't dissapointed. After such a long wait for it, I'm afraid you're almost bound to be :-P But I do hope you all like it!**

**A Note About Reviewer Responses:**

**1. **First of all, since this site has decided it won't allow authors to respond at the bottom of each chapter, I'll be e-mailing my responses to reviewers. So, if you want me to respond, be sure to either leave me your address, or review signed in, so I can get it from your bio ;-)

**2. **Secondly, due to some medical problems, I may not be able to respond to reviews at all, some weeks. I still hope to be _updating_ on the weekends, but lots of continued back-pain is making it harder for me to sit at the computer for along periods of time. To top it off, I just found out last week I'm going to need surgery for some problems with my gums (ack!). -strikes dramatic pose- But not to fear, I have already finished the actual writing of the story, and if I should perish before I'm through posting, Imbecamiel shall carry on in my stead! I shall not desert you, dear readers. You will have an end to the story! LOL, I'll have to see how things go, but I'm really looking forward to talking to you all again :-)


	2. Volunteering for Trouble

**A/N: Imbecamiel, my wonderful editor, just got her first job as a "real" editor - so she hasn't had a to chance to go over either my responses, or my story very thoroughly this time. Please have mercy on the poor, editorless author, LOL.**

_This chapter is dedicated to: Willy, Pip, and Cami. -huggles-_

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

**

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****Chapter 2: Volunteering for Trouble**

"If all else fails, we can always go spider-hunting." Aragorn sat cross-legged on Legolas's bed.

Legolas snorted incredulously from his position in the windowsill. "Just the two of us?"

"Well…" Aragorn's silver eyes sparkled mischievously, reflecting the early-morning light streaming in through the window. "We could bring Dolenil with us, I suppose."

"I thought you didn't like Dolenil."

"I don't, mellon-nín, but I was thinking more along the lines of bait..."

"Estel!" Legolas frowned at the ranger in reprimand.

"Oh, you're right." Aragorn sighed resignedly. "The spiders wouldn't be tempted: he's too sour."

With commendable self-control, Legolas struggled not to laugh, but in the end he lost the battle. When their laughter died down, they finally realized someone was knocking softly on the door—and had been for some time.

"Prince Legolas?" Came the strained, but polite, inquiry.

Legolas sat up so suddenly he hit his head on the top of the window with a dull "thump".

"My Lord?" The voice became tainted with impatience, only bridled by the greater need for decorum.

Rubbing his head, Legolas finally reached the door.

"Forgive me, hir-nín," the long-suffering elf said as soon as the door was opened. "I am sorry I had to interrupt your…conversation…" He glanced disapprovingly at Aragorn. "But the King requests your presence."

Legolas managed to produce something between a grimace and a smile for the messenger, and nodded his thanks. Undoubtedly Thranduil was finally getting around to giving him his long-belated lecture for his latest misadventure.

By experience, Aragorn knew what having your presence "requested" could portend. He grinned. "It was nice knowing you, mellon-nin. It's a pity our friendship had to come to such and abrupt and tragic ending."

"A _loyal _friend would choose to die along with his friend," Legolas grabbed Aragorn by the hand and hauled him to his feet. "facing the same peril side-by-side."

"…facing the same peril side by side… I'm a friend, yes, but I don't know if I'm _that_ good a friend," Aragorn muttered as he was towed down the hallway to Thranduil's study.

The King was sitting at his desk, unfocused eyes vacantly staring ahead, hands resting on the myriad of papers strewn in front of him. When they entered, he didn't seem to notice them.

Aragorn looked at Legolas. "Not a morning person?"

Rolling his eyes at his friend, Legolas cleared his throat loud enough to wake his father. "You wanted to see me?"

With a struggle, Thranduil's eyes refocused, and he look at them blearily. "I did?"

Working hard to hide a smile, Legolas answered as respectfully as he could. "Yes, Ada."

It took a long moment, but finally Thranduil shook himself and said, "Oh, yes, I wished to speak with you about…" He tried to stifle a persistent yawn.

"Ada, have you been up all night?..." Legolas asked suspiciously.

Thranduil shook his head. "No, not all night."

"The delegates." This time Legolas's voice held certainty. "The delegates arrived last night."

"Yes, yes, the delegates…" Thranduil sighed wearily. "They arrived in the middle of the night and, Eru alone knows why, insisted on speaking with me immediately." He massaged his temples absentmindedly. "They had nothing of great importance to talk about, but…"

"They kept you up most of the night." It wasn't a question.

"I guess you could say that," he answered cynically. "But, ion-nín, I have been up all night before—it won't kill me."

"I know, but you've been up all night one too many times in a row lately; elves are blessed with immortality, not invulnerability." Legolas's voice turned slightly pleading. "Please, Ada, get a little sleep?"

To say Aragorn was surprised would have been an understatement. He'd never seen King Thranduil in such a state of exhaustion. The normal barrier he kept up against strangers, and sometimes even his own son, seemed stripped from him. He wondered if _anyone _had ever witnessed Thranduil so run-down, and Legolas so firmly authoritative. Perhaps they _would _get away without a lecture after all…

Thranduil tried to dismiss the idea with a wave of his hand. "I would, but the delegates will wish to see me later this morning."

"Ada, if _they_ were rude enough to arrive in the middle of the night, and insist on an immediate audience, then they can just wait until later to talk with you again. Whatever they have to say can wait."

Thranduil sighed again. When had his son learned to be so stubborn? In any case, he was too exhausted to argue today. "Very well, my son, if you _insist_. But now, you two have a seat. I have something to discuss with you." After they were seated he said, "It's not a serious matter, but you will remember, Legolas, that it is time to formally renew the trade agreements with Laketown." Getting down to business at last, he seemed to regain a certain amount of dignity, although he still had a slightly disheveled aura. "I know you usually go, but since you two are still somewhat recovering from your latest…journey…" Legolas flinched at the reference to their misadventure, wondering if the subject would finally be broached, but Thranduil continued, "I thought you might prefer to send someone else."

Hesitantly, not sure whether Aragorn _would _be prepared to go, Legolas started to open his mouth to answer. Aragorn beat him to it.

"If Legolas is willing, your majesty, I would very much like to accompany him to Laketown."

"Well, Legolas?" Thranduil looked at his son.

Legolas paused, looking intently into his friend's eyes. "You're sure you want to go, mellon-nín?"

Knowing why Legolas asked, Aragorn replied just as seriously. "I'm alright, really, I'd like to go."

Content, Legolas nodded slowly. "Then we'll go."

"Good." Thranduil smiled, albeit tiredly. "You'll still need to bring an escort with you, of course."

"Of course." Legolas tried not to groan. "We'll bring Dolenil, and Dinerion along." He prayed that his father wouldn't notice either his choice, or the small number he'd chosen. In Thranduil's opinion, Legolas could _never _have too large a contingent. However, Legolas' fears were unfounded this time.

"Fine…That will do." Thranduil didn't appear to have noticed. "You should notify them right away, and be ready to leave this afternoon; you will be expected there in a couple of days."

They nodded and turned to go, hardly daring to believe their luck. Not only did they get away with bringing a guard contingent of _two_, but they'd also managed to escape from a lecture.

"Oh, and Legolas," Thranduil looked up from his desk. "that lecture will be waiting for you when you come back."

-o0o-

The dark-haired man scanned the busy tavern for a familiar face. He smiled when he saw a young man materialize out of the crowd, advancing toward his table. Meeting the younger man's eyes, he motioned to a seat.

"Kadrin," he greeted as the other man seated himself across from him. "never a minute early, or a second too late."

The young man nodded his own greeting, sun-streaked blond hair glinting in the low lantern light. "I cannot afford to do otherwise. For me, timing can be a matter of life or death."

"Yes, I can imagine." He chuckled.

Before their conversation could go further, a third man approached their table. Kadrin eyed him critically. The newcomer's appearance was fairly average, with stringy hair of an unrecognizable color, and rugged, ill-fitting clothes. But there were two things that stood out to Kadrin's experienced eye. The man's face spoke of unwarranted cruelty and meaningless brutality. He looked in disgust at the stump where the man's right hand used to be—it implied carelessness and incompetence. In short, it took only two words to describe the man: a liability. When the man spoke, things just got worse.

"Acharndil, there you are!"

Kadrin didn't even try to disguise a flinch as the man's coarse voice grated further on his nerves.

"Sweet Eru above!" His older companion, across the table, rolled his eyes but managed to keep his own voice even. "Keep your voice down, Dagron."

Dagron growled something indistinguishable, but kept his peace. He glowered at Kadrin, his malicious brown eyes glinting with question. Kadrin, in his turn, eyed him disdainfully, cold blue eyes boring into him. In the end, Dagron looked away first with another menacing growl.

Acharndil decided to speak up before things got worse. "Dagron, go get yourself a drink…" He motioned vaguely and turned back to Kadrin.

Kadrin wasn't bothering with formalities. "Who was that?" The question was calm but forthright.

"_That_," He paused to sigh heavily. "was my dear cousin."

"I thought you said you would be getting rid of him." Kadrin's voice remained even, but his glance towards Dagron's retreating figure was one of controlled but growing impatience and intense annoyance.

"Dagron isn't easy to 'get rid' of." Acharndil said wryly. Noticing the other man's irritation, he hurried to add, "Don't worry about him, I'll make sure he stays out of the way. If he gives you any trouble, tell me and I'll take care of him."

Kadrin nodded slowly. "Just so long as he doesn't interfere with my job, I don't think there will be any problems between us. But I would warn you, as a friend, not to keep that walking hazard around if you hope to succeed in your plans."

"'Walking hazard', eh?" Acharndil laughed. "That certainly describes him well."

Kadrin didn't appear to find much to laugh about in the situation. "Nonetheless, that is what he is: a liability, a disaster just waiting to happen.. He'll only cause trouble, and I suggest you get rid of him if you ever hope to have your revenge."

"You are very perceptive for only having seen him once." Acharndil rubbed the bridge of his nose, something he had an unconscious habit of doing every time he was worried—in other words, whenever he thought about Dagron. "I appreciate your advice. I agree with it, and I would… But I'm afraid the only way to permanently rid myself of Dagron would be to kill him." He chuckled at the highly appealing, but ridiculous thought. Dagron may have been the biggest "walking hazard" in the whole of Middle-Earth, but he was still family. His _only _family, at that.

Personally, Kadrin didn't think the proposition sounded too ineffectual or unworkable. But his employer was obviously not inclined to agree, so he wisely kept the idea to himself.

Dagron returned, carrying a mug in his good hand.

With hardly a glance at him, Acharndil motioned him to a seat. "And keep your mouth shut," he ordered. "We have business to discuss, and I do _not _need _your _opinion on _anything_."

After that, Dagron proceeded to sulk, watching them with a dark expression and noisily sipping his drink occasionally. But he did not speak, and for that Acharndil was grateful.

"Now, my friend, tell me what has been happening." Acharndil asked Kadrin pleasantly.

"He left sooner than we thought he would." There was no question on either side as to who "he" was. "And he brought another elf and a human with him."

Acharndil tensed, but found his voice. "A human? What does he look like?"

"Tall, dark hair, blue eyes…" Kadrin trailed off, not truly interested in the human. "He will be a complication if he stays as close to the Prince as he has their entire journey to Mirkwood."

But Acharndil wasn't listening. His mind was working furiously. This human was the same ranger he'd caught a while ago when he'd tried to bait the twin sons of Elrond into a trap. He had to be. The description fit perfectly, and he had followed Legolas on his journey. He'd witnessed their extreme loyalty, and he really should have taken his accompanying Legolas into account.

It wasn't only his careless oversight that was bothering him, though. He couldn't get those pleading silver eyes to stop haunting his memories. They reminded him so much—too much—of the brother he was working to avenge… The human had been innocent, and he'd almost killed him without—

"Acharndil, are you alright, my friend?"

Kadrin's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Yes, yes…" He shook himself, sentimental guilt fleeing in an instant. "I'm alright. It's only that I think I know this human. I captured him not long ago, when I was trying to trap the Lords Elladan and Elrohir." He added in a low voice, "He is fiercely loyal to both the Peredhils, and the Prince."

"Then he most certainly _will _be a great obstacle in getting to any of them." Kadrin, too, kept his voice low. It wasn't likely they'd be overheard, but he was not about to take the risk. "Perhaps it would be best to take both of them now while they're alone? They are accompanied by no more than two other elves."

"No!" Acharndil said too quickly, before saying again more slowly, "No. I do not think that is the best way." He paused thoughtfully. "How far have you followed them? Where, exactly, are they at the moment?"

"I followed them from Rivendell to Mirkwood. Now, it seems, they are traveling to Laketown so the Prince can renew a trade-agreement. The King agreed to let the Prince go with a contingent of three: the ranger, and two other elves." Kadrin smiled. "Fortunately for us, and thanks to a late-night visit from some ambassadors, plus a few nights of sleeplessness, Thranduil was in the right frame of mind to be somewhat lax with his son. Now, the four of them are nearly half way to Laketown."

Acharndil listened to Kadrin, his level of respect increasing another notch. How in the name of Eru did the man learn so much? Did the man actually go so far as to sneak around the Palace listening in on conversations? However he did it, Acharndil wasn't about to question or complain about his methods. He'd heard of the incredible skill of Kadrin Númair, but this man was something else…

"Good. That will work perfectly." Acharndil nodded.

Kadrin looked closely at his employer and repeated his question. "But why not take them now?"

"I have worked hard for this, these plan must be _flawless_. Forgive me for not explaining, but I'm afraid you are just going to have to trust me. I do have my reasons."

Acharndil chewed absently on his lip, all too aware of the shallowness of his own words. They sounded empty, even to him. But he _did_ have his reasons.

_Cowardly reasons. Afraid of meeting the ranger again? Afraid of how you might have to use him for your goals? Afraid you'll be too weak to use him a second time as you did the first?_

He nearly growled out loud as he mentally batted aside the barrage of self-accusations. He had _other _reasons. Necessary, logical, unemotional reason. He was _not _stalling because of the ranger.

"If you wish to keep it that way, of course." Kadrin's voice held no rebellion, only acceptance; but it held no true humility either. "I will do what I am paid to do, _when _and_ where _I am paid to do it—without question."

"Thank you for your understanding," Acharndil said, nearly sagging with relief. He wasn't entirely sure what he would have said if Kadrin had insisted that he give more of an explanation. "I will have everything ready on my end by tomorrow. We will be ready for them."

* * *

**TBC...**

Ok...I hope you all got my reviewer responses - I'm been having a few difficulties with getting them sent :-P See you all next Saturday!

Wow – thank you all SO much for the wonderful reviews. They really mean a lot to me. I know a few of you said I didn't have to respond…but I still would like to at least thank Sarah Schönburg, annika, FallenEagle, and crazyAZN kid for their encouragement, even though I didn't get to say so in the responses ;-)


	3. Elusive Instinct

**A/N: **Thanks so much to all of you who reviewed :-D I guess I have nothing more interesting to say...sad, I know...

See chapter one for disclaimer.

**

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Chapter 3: Elusive Instinct **

Aragorn and Legolas talked quietly about the trip ahead as they began to ready their horses.

"Mellon-nín…"Aragorn paused suddenly in his brushing to look over his horse's back at Legolas. "Who, exactly, _is_ Dinerion? I don't remember ever meeting him."

"That's because you haven't." Legolas answered, slinging his satchel over the back of his horse. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "But didn't I tell you about him?"

"You're avoiding my question," Aragorn said suspiciously.

"If you really want to know…He's Dolenil's brother."

Aragorn just about choked. "His brother?"

"Yes, mellon-nín, his brother." Legolas repeated patiently.

"You didn't tell me he had a _brother_!" The ranger groaned. "Great. There's _two _of them. And you just volunteered me to travel with them."

"Now Strider, don't judge Dinerion before you've even met him. Give the poor elf a chance."

"Are you suggesting that he's an improvementover his brother?" Aragorn asked with tentative hope.

"Well, I wouldn't say he was an _improvement_—exactly."

"What do you mean 'not _exactly_'!"

Legolas shook his head. "Dinerion's too hard to explain, and I'm not about to try."

Before Aragorn could continue to lament his fate, noises started to reach them from the courtyard. There was a thud, like a heavy object hitting the ground, then scrambling noises. Another thump soon followed, sounding suspiciously like a falling person. It was not a normal sound to break the peaceful ambience of an elven palace. But there it was.

"I believe Dinerion has arrived..." Legolas said, a forced expression of neutrality on his face.

Aragorn looked guardedly at the door, waiting for the appearance of Dolenil's brother. The door swung open to reveal…Someone who didn't resemble Dolenil at all.

The elf was at least several inches taller than his older brother, and had a bow and two daggers, very similar to Legolas', strapped to his back. He stood imposingly in the doorway, looking like a very impressive representation of an elven warrior.

Aragorn watched him with some apprehension. The fact that he may not _outwardly_ resemble his brother did not mean that he wasn't going to _act _like him. To his surprise, Dinerion didn't seem to notice. In a friendly forward gesture, he stepped into the room. His arms swung in a carefree manner, and his warm, brown eyes shone with an openness that Aragorn had not expected.

Unfortunately, one of his "carefree" arms swung directly in a large jar of leather-oil that was sitting on the a table next to the door. With lightening-quick recovery, he dove forward and caught it, casually replacing it on the table. As he advanced towards them, he tripped on a rock and was only just saved by grabbing onto one of the posts supporting the roof. Apparently unfazed, he greeted Aragorn cheerfully.

"Suliad! I'm Dinerion. You must be Strider." His untroubled face paused thoughtfully. "Although, Dolenil insists that I _should_ call you 'Lord Estel'…" his face brightened, "But I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I called you Strider. 'Lord' sounds so formal, you know…"

"Ah…yes…of course…" Aragorn was fighting not to laugh. "I don't mind at all if you call me Strider…"

"It's such an unusual name—but I like it." The elf smiled, acting so casual and friendly, Aragorn felt like he must have met the elf at least once before. "Legolas has told me so much about you, and I was just dying to meet you! Then when I heard that you were coming with Legolas, I could hardly wait! I was thinking that maybe—"

"Dinerion." Legolas interrupted with a smile, "Perhaps you should start getting your own horse ready? We do need to leave soon."

"Oh, sorry…I won't take long." He walked over to his own horse.

Dolenil entered a moment later, apologized for being late, and also began to hastily prepare his horse for the journey.

-o0o-

They started out, Aragorn riding in front with Legolas, and Dolenil and Dinerion a few paces behind them.

Dinerion, wearing his usual carefree smile, was trying to engage his stoic brother in conversation. "I'm so glad that Strider came with Legolas, aren't you?" he said, watching Legolas and Aragorn laughing and talking in front of them. "Legolas seems so much more..." he paused, searching for the right word to describe this seemingly new side of the prince. "Well, he just seems a lot happier with him here."

Dolenil didn't say anything, but his eyes did rove curiously between Aragorn and Legolas. His eyes rested on Legolas, who was at that moment playfully swatting at his friend. If Dinerion had looked closely, he would have seen his brothers mouth twitch slightly. But before that slight twitching could turn into anything more noticeable, Dolenil turned to look appraisingly at the human, and his eyes turned dark and cautious once more.

Either Dinerion didn't notice the change in his brother, or he chose to ignore it. But his eyes did follow Dolenil's gaze to the two friends riding before them. "They must be very good friends." His broad smile became more sober and thoughtful. "I've never seen Legolas so laid-back around anyone before, and although I've only just met him, I already have a feeling I'm going to like Strider very much."

At this, Dolenil allowed the harsh restraint that he usually kept on his emotions to slip. Somehow, he could never remain cold and distant around his little brother no matter how hard he tried to keep proper control over his feelings; and he'd given up trying to do so long ago.

Under his breath he muttered teasingly, "You like _everyone_, muindor."

"And just _what_ is the matter with liking everyone?" Dinerion demanded, trying his best to look indignant and failing miserably.

"Did I say there was anything wrong with it?" Dolenil answered with a question of his own.

Even as he spoke light-heartedly with his brother, Dinerion's mind swerved back to his usual, serious thoughts, and as his thoughts changed, so did his expression. Dinerion continued to chatter, but Dolenil's eyes, albeit unintentionally, refocused guardedly on Aragorn. They held a suspicious and decidedly unfriendly glint, and this time Dinerion noticed.

A frown marred the younger elf's face, looking even more serious in comparison to his nearly habitual smile.

"Dolenil," he said quietly, his words laced with reproach. "why don't you like Strider?"

Dolenil sighed, but his look softened once more. His younger brother knew him all too well. It was reassuring to have someone who could nearly read his mind, but at times it was also rather disconcerting. As much he loved his brother, at the moment he didn't feel like trying to explain his feelings to him. He rarely felt like displaying his emotions, and detested trying to explain them. Besides, right now he really had a hard time explaining his dislike of the ranger to _himself_. Still… Dinerion had a way, when he chose, of wheedling nearly anything he wanted out of his older brother.

"I do not trust him," he said under his breath. "and I do not understand the Prince's unquestioning loyalty."

"But, muindor, what's the harm of them being friends? Legolas can pick his own friends, and I don't think that Strider is a bad choice anyways. He's―"

"He's far more than just a good friend." Dolenil interrupted sternly. In his fierce desire to explain, he didn't notice the slightly hurt look that crossed his brother's face at the hardness in his voice. "You were not there, Dinerion, you did not see how deep their friendship is. They are like brothers. Legolas was ready to _die _for that _Adan_."

"So that's it," Dolenil said softly, his face growing even more uncharacteristically serious. "You don't like Strider because he's human."

Dolenil sighed again. He should have known better than to try and hide it. He'd tried to get away with only telling half of the tale, but he should have known Dinerion would see he was hiding something. True, he was annoyed, and yet, inwardly, he smiled slightly. Dinerion was always so underestimated… Because he was so clumsy, good humored, and friendly towards anyone he happened to meet, most tended to automatically discount him in matters of any importance. It was really unfair; Dinerion was more perceptive than most.

"Oh muindor…" he said, endowing his words with such tenderness, that it erased the lingering hurt from his younger brother's concerned brown eyes. "You and I have always been so different. You know me unlike any other. You know that I _cannot _trust as easily as you. But you…" his voice trailed off and a small, curious smile flitted across his face before he fell silent.

"Yes? You were saying…brother? What about me?" Dinerion demanded, his voice rising in good-natured indignation.

By now the animated conversation had caught Aragorn and Legolas' attention. Aragorn turned in his saddle to watch in confusion as Dolenil conversed with Dinerion. Was it just his imagination, or was he actually _joking _with his brother? He looked closer. Yes, there most definitely was a semblance of a smile…

"But they were very nice crickets!" Dinerion was saying in response to whatever Dolenil had just said.

Legolas laughed loudly, and the two brothers looked up quickly, not having realized that they'd gained an audience.

"Nice crickets?" Legolas raised his eyebrows incredulously.

Dolenil, upon realizing that his unleashed emotions were being observed, immediately became quiet and controlled. The change was so sudden, that Aragorn did a double take. With the stoic mask firmly back in place, the smiling, laughing elf he'd seen just a second ago, seemed to have vanished.

Dinerion, contrasting with his brother as sharply as ever, took it all in stride, not even pausing in surprise before continuing talking. He seemed completely at ease incorporating _anyone _into his conversation, even the prince his brother held in such careful respect.

"Yes, they _were _very nice." Dinerion continued in the defense of his beloved pets. "They would sing every night for me."

"You, and half the palace…" Legolas added wryly, winking at Aragorn.

"Well, they weren't around to torture you for very long," Dinerion said darkly.

Aragorn was confused. Obviously this was an old argument, but really…Crickets?

"Why? What happened to them?" he asked.

Legolas scowled at his friend and muttered, "That was the wrong question, mellon-nín."

"Legolas murdered them, that's what." Dinerion said vehemently.

"Murdered!" Legolas exclaimed.

"Don't act so innocent, Legolas, just admit that it was you who dumped the cage."

"Elbereth Gilthoniel!" Legolas ducked slightly to avoid a low-hanging branch. "Why would I _want _to tip over their cage? The only thing worse than a cage full of a couple dozen chirping crickets, is a couple dozen chirping crickets _out _of their cage―in the Palace! Do you think I actually _like _having my father in that foul a mood?"

But Dinerion stubbornly refused to be convinced of the princes' innocence. "And everybody was stepping on them, and 'accidentally' setting books on them…" he grumbled under his breath.

Legolas rolled his eyes, turning slightly in his saddle as he felt a pair of brown eyes boring accusingly into his back. "I'd just come back from a tiring year-long scouting trip along the borders. I was exhausted and ready for a little peace and _quiet_. I had no idea that the room directly underneath mine would be hosting a horde of crickets!"

"You could hardly call it a horde, Legolas." Dinerion interjected.

Legolas sighed in exasperation. "That's beside the point!"

"And here I thought elves loved all good creatures regardless…" Aragorn smirked.

Legolas' glare was withering. "Please, mellon-nín, you're really not helping things," he said between clenched teeth.

"That's right, why don't you listen to Strider?" Dinerion smiled at Aragorn. "Come on, Legolas, just admit that you murdered my crickets."

Legolas groaned. "You can't _murder _an _insect_!" Suddenly his mood seemed to change. He looked slyly behind him at Dinerion. "Why don't we talk about the time you adopted those rabbits? You know, when you kept them in your closet―back when you didn't realize the significance of why you keep the male and the female separated…"

Dinerion choked and looked like he was about to explode, but before he could get another word out, Dolenil reached over and tapped him on the shoulder. "I think you are a bit upset, muindor. Calm down."

"I am _not _upset!" Dinerion said heatedly, a strand of hair his brown hair falling into his eyes.

But Dolenil was adamant. "Come, Dinerion, I think it is time we scouted ahead a ways…" He all but led his brother's horse away, leaving Aragorn and Legolas to smile in amusement.

-o0o-

Aragorn sighed in contentment as he surveyed the quiet forest. After the last couple of months… He shuddered. Suffice it to say, it was wonderful to be traveling among friends. And what friends they were.

Dinerion approached the fire holding a piece of firewood. He was reaching forward to put it on the flames, when Dolenil hastily intercepted it.

"Dinerion," Dolenil came the closest Aragorn had ever heard to whining. "How many times have Naneth and I told you not to get close to the fire?"

Dinerion crossed his arms defiantly. "You sound like you're talking to a hundred-year-old, Dolenil!"

The conversation, intense as it was, was suddenly interrupted by something more intense―namely the fire creeping up the side of Dinerion's green jerkin. The younger elf's eyes went wide, and then Dolenil was pushing him to the ground, half falling on top of him as he rolled his brother into the snow. Once the flames were smothered, the two of them sat up.

"Are you burned?" Dolenil studied his singed brother.

Dinerion looked dolefully at the charred hole in his clothes. "_I'm _alright, but I'm afraid I've managed to ruin yet another outfit."

Aragorn noted with some surprise of his own, the lack of any real surprise on any of his friends' faces. Well, in _his _experience companions lighting themselves on fire hadn't been something that most people took in stride. Elladan and Elrohir were the only other beings he'd ever seen go through something so undignified, and come out of it so unfazed. Even the twins, though, wouldn't have taken a sudden conflagration of their clothing so calmly.

The "excitement" in the camp, following Dinerion's run-in with fire, soon died down. Several times in the last half-hour, Aragorn had tried to get a word in with Legolas. Something sinister was growing on his mind, and a good talk with Legolas always helped clear his thoughts; but each time he turned to his friend, he could feel a pair of eyes burn into him coldly. The uncomfortable surveillance Dolenil kept on him was beginning to seriously grate on his nerves.

_Eru…why does that elf have the ability to make me feel so uncomfortable?_

Dinerion solved his problem for him, albeit unknowingly.

"Well, it looks like we're running out of firewood," he said, rising. "I'll go find some more."

"Not by yourself, you won't." Dolenil rose as well, obviously not recovered enough from his brother's latest near-catastrophe to allow him to wander the darkening woods alone.

As they disappeared into the trees, Aragorn permitted himself the unashamed pleasure of sighing in relief.

"Not too sad to be rid of them, I see." Legolas' blue eyes sparkled with more than the fire-light.

"Positively heart-broken," Aragorn replied sarcastically. "Honestly, mellon-nín, I don't know if I can stand much more of Dolenil's 'observation'. Though, as far as Dinerion…I have to admit, he _is_ growing on me."

"Yes," Legolas nodded. "I think his ability to 'grow' on people has saved him from the threat of banishment more then once. That, and the fact that Dolenil would kill the first person to suggest such a decree."

Aragorn chuckled. "You mean an elf could be banished for being clumsy?"

"It's rather hard to say," Legolas laughed at the irony. "_Elves _don't often stop to consider things like clumsiness. In all of our long history, I don't believe we've ever had to seriously make a decision of that kind."

"No, I suppose not." He shot his friend an amused glance. "The damage must be extensive, though."

"Not nearly as bad as you might imagine. Oh, Dinerion may be clumsy, but he certainly has quick reflexes. Between him and Dolenil, he usually manages to avoid disaster."

Aragorn smiled, turning towards the woods as his face began to sting from the constant heat of the fire. Facing the coolness of the night, he let the warmth play across his back. An easy silence lapsed for a few moments, before he said quietly, "Before they return, there is something I must talk to you about."

Legolas also turned to face the woods. He nodded, encouraging him to continue. Somehow he'd already known there was something on his friend's mind. Of course, it didn't take telepathy to see that. Aragorn had been fidgeting all day.

"Legolas, someone's out there." He nodded towards the quiet forest. "I can't explain it, but I feel…watched."

-o0o-

Kadrin balanced carefully on the limb. The bare branches of the wind-swept tree he was sitting in would have provided scarce cover for his purposes, but luckily the evergreens were plenteous in the area. Through the bushy snow-laden bows of the two pine-trees in front of his hiding place, he watched the figures gathered around the campfire.

He could see the dark silhouette of the two companions. His cold eyes followed the form of the elf. The Prince of Mirkwood. The other, the human, he had little interest in. But the elves he studied carefully. It had taken a while—a disgraceful amount of time in his opinions—before he could tell the two blond elves apart.

From the distance he was forced to watch them at, they were easy to mistake for one another. Now he could tell them apart at a glance. Their mannerisms, gestures, and even the way they walked, all betrayed their identities to his trained eye. The two "superfluous" elves had left a few minutes ago. He could tell them all apart anywhere, even when all he had to go by was their silhouette.

There could be no embarrassing mistakes, no second chances.

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TBC...

**Ok...I should have reviewer responses sent out later today (although it might be quite late...I'll see when I get a chance). Next chapter should be up Sat., if all goes as planned ;-)**


	4. Nemesis

**A/N: **Ouch. I just realized how terribly short this chapter is. I'm afraid that may have happened with a couple of chapters down the road… Sorry 'bout that :-P Hey, but you have to give me some credit here - to make up for it's shortness,I posted it a whole DAY earlier! -cheers- Yay for me! Okay, so I guess the REAL reason is that I'm going to be gone for most of tomorrow, but still...the results are the same, right? -g-

See chapter one for disclaimers. Reviewer responses are on the way ;-)

**

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Chapter 4: Nemesis **

"Make certain that one of the Peredhils gets it." Acharndil looked the man in the eye.

He wished he could send Kadrin for this important mission, but unfortunately he would be preoccupied with even more vital problems. This man would do well enough—he hoped. He looked intelligent enough, and he really _wouldn't _be able to tell anyone anything, he was merely an innocent hunter. The man would deliver the message, tell them he knew nothing of the sender or contents, and be on his way. Elladan and Elrohir Peredhil would march straight into his perfectly planned trap—anything for Legolas or their brother.

At last, satisfied with his courier, he said with a hint of amusement, "I would suggest you leave as soon as you deliver this. I'm afraid you're not bearing very good news, and I don't believe they'll be in the most pleasant of moods after receiving this." He handed the letter to the other man as he mounted his horse. The man was beginning to look a little uneasy, so he amended his words diplomatically. "I wouldn't worry, they'll only be a little…upset. Thank you for taking the trouble of delivering it for me."

The man still looked uncertain, but he nodded, turning his horse and moving off in the direction of Rivendell.

-o0o-

"My Lord, a message just came for you."

Elrond looked up from his desk. "A message? Who is it from, Glorfindel?"

"I'm not certain, a man just rode in and asked that this be delivered you." He held out the letter and Elrond took it. Glorfindel sighed and shook his head. "He was very vague about it. All could tell us was that a man—he didn't know his name—had asked him to deliver it to Rivendell, and that it _must _be given to one of the Peredhils."

Curious, Elrond examined the seal for a crest and, finding none, broke the wax and opened the letter. He silently scanned the letter for a full minute. Glorfindel was just about to leave, when he stopped him. "Is the man who brought this still here?" Glorfindel nodded. "Then send for Elladan and Elrohir, and bring the messenger here—quickly."

The urgency in Elrond's voice was enough to alert Glorfindel to the seriousness of the situation. He hurried off down the hall and soon returned with a now thoroughly bewildered hunter trailing in wake.

"Here, my Lord. This is the man." Glorfindel had to practically push him forward.

Elrond studied the man. The very common, slightly nervous-looking man didn't look suspicious by _any_ stretch of the imagination.

"Ada, what's happened? Who is this man?" Elladan entered the room mouth-first, instantly bombarding his father with questions. Elrohir stood beside him, the anxiety on his face—and his brother's directness—asking all the questions for him.

Wary of the dam he was about to burst, Elrond sighed and handed the letter to Elladan. The pallor of his face didn't escape the notice of either of the twins. Apprehensively, Elladan and Elrohir began to read.

_To the Lords Elladan and Elrohir Peredhil,_

_In your carelessness you killed my family. Now, even though you _know_, you refuse to take the responsibility for your actions. I tried once to get justice for them and failed, but I _will _make you pay for what you have done. I underestimated you last time—I won't make the same mistake again._

_The Prince of Mirkwood is now within my reach. He and your pitiful little "brother" are totally unaware of my presence, but I have but to give the word, and either of them will be my prisoner. I took your brother last time. Maybe I should take the Prince first this time, just for a bit of variety? Or perhaps both of them? Your brother is remarkably loyal to him; they seem to wish to face everything together. Everything—perhaps even death? _

_Last time, you were almost too late. Will you be able to reach them in time now?_

_Do not bring anyone with you or I guarantee you _will _regret it. _

_Acharndil _

"Melodramatic and arrogant as ever!" Elladan nearly yelled. "We should have searched harder! How could we have given up so easily?" His voice broke and he looked almost pleadingly at Elrond. "Ada, he means to go after Legolas and Estel, and I _won't _sit here and do nothing. Not again."

Elrohir's eyes shone with identical determination and, as if reading each other's minds, they both turned towards the door at the same time.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Elrond had to smile slightly at their adamant determination. "Wait a minute, my sons. Where are you going?"

"To pack," Elladan said simply.

"My sons." The seriousness of the tone was enough to make the twins stop and turn around. "We must learn all we can before you do anything. The only way we can help either of them is by using our heads and coming up with a rational plan of action."

Elladan and Elrohir nodded, albeit begrudgingly. Time was now a commodity they didn't have nearly enough of.

Glorfindel watched the scene grimly. It was hard to watch his friends encountering such a hardship and be able to nothing about it. Right now he wanted nothing more then to ride out with a dozen elves, hunt down Acharndil, and put an end to his days of tormenting the Peredhil family. But he knew the foolishness of such wishful thinking. Even if Elladan and Elrohir would allow him that pleasure, the task wouldn't be nearly so simple.

Next to him, the poor hunter shifted from foot to foot. He had felt awkward merely meeting the great Elf Lord; witnessing such a private family moment was making things even more uncomfortable. When the three dark-haired elves finally turned their determined gazes on him, he had a sudden mad urge to dash out the door and hop on his horse, hoping never to run into another elf in his life. He shifted a little closer to the door. If he could only find a moment when they were all preoccupied and slip out… But the blond elf behind him kept a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Stay," the tall elf commanded sternly, as if reading his mind.

He gulped and inclined his head slightly as Elrond and his sons came to stand in front of him. "I-I'm sorry if I've brought bad news," he stammered.

"I'm afraid you have," Elrond said, watching the man for any sign of deceit. "But what I want to know is _where _you got it."

"I-I got it from a man, about five days ride to the East of here."

Elrond nodded thoughtfully. "And this man, do you know who he was?"

"N-no, I don't have any idea who he was." The man continued to stumble clumsily over his words now and then as he spoke. "H-he just told me to give it to you. He said s-something about it being 'bad news', but I—"

"'Bad news'!" Elladan scoffed, glaring at him. "Where is this man now?"

"I don't know! He just t-told me to give it to you!" The hunter said, panicking under the young elf lord's furious gaze.

It was the truth, the man had told him nothing more. He had warned him that they might be a little "upset", but not _this_…The unfortunate messenger shuddered. There would be no more volunteering to deliver "bad news" for him.

"I don't believe you," Elladan said furiously, in his anger losing most of his usual good judgment.

Desperate, the man was now fairly shouting. "I'm telling the truth! I-I swear, he told me nothing else!"

Elrond put a hand on Elladan's shoulder. "That is _enough_. Control yourself, ion-nín," he commanded in elvish, before turning to the cowering hunter.

"You must forgive my son," He shot a meaningful glance at the still-fiery Elladan. "you are in no danger from us. But we would all greatly appreciate it if you would give us allthe information you have. Do you remember _anything _else?"

The man calmed visibly at Elrond's words, spoken so reassuringly. "I'm afraid I really don't know anything else. I-I'm sorry," He still stammered occasionally, but now his voice was calm. Even Elladan could see he was telling the truth. "that's all he told me."

Elrond sighed, but said graciously, "Thank you for your help. I am sorry you had to go through all this trouble. We will replentish your supplies if you are in need of anything. You are welcome to stay the night, if you will." He addressed Glorfindel, "Would you see that our guest gets whatever he needs?"

As soon as Glorfindel escorted the hunter out of the room, Elrond turned to his sons. "And now, we will discuss our plans."

"What plans?" Elladan said impatiently. "Elrohir and I are going to look for Estel and Legolas. If we hurry we can catch up with them soon, before Acharndil gets the chance. Last time we waited too long before looking for him. Acharndil's not going to take any chances this time, and neither can we." He continued almost in one breath, hardly noticing that no one was gainsaying anything he said. "Ada, please don't try and stop us, we _must _go."

"Of course you must," Elrond said mildly. "All I was going to say was that I hoped you'd be careful. No running blindly into any hostage situations and getting you, your brothers, or Legolas killed." His face softened into a affectionate smile. "I don't want to lose any of you. Understood?"

Stunned into silence, for a moment all the twins could do was stare.

"Do you understand?" Elrond repeated, he smile becoming amused.

"You mean," Elrohir asked haltingly, "you're going to let us go—just like that?"

This time Elrond laughed lightly. "Yes, I'm going to let you go 'just like that'. But might I suggest you start packing and get on your way before I change my mind and lock you in your rooms?"

Elladan and Elrohir scrambled for the door.

Finally left alone, Elrond lowered himself wearily into a chair, all semblance of strength and confidence gone. Even on ordinary occasions, he felt anxious every time he let the twins leave. They always managed to come back somehow the worse for wear, and this time there was no guarantee they were coming back at all.

And there was Estel… Sitting here he felt so helpless! He had to believe that Elladan and Elrohir would get there in time to stop Acharndil from harming Estel or Legolas.

"Ilúvatar, please, bring my sons back to me… All of them."

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**TBC…**

Hope you enjoyed it, despite it's pitiful length - and please, reviews are MUCH appreciated!


	5. In a Tight Spot

**A/N:** -moans**- **I just had gum surgery today. -tries to look pitiful- Aren't I a good author to post anyways? -g- Heh, I'll be quiet now… (obviously pain-killers do nothing to enhance my mental powers :-P)

At any rate, hope you enjoy the chapter ;-)

See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responses will be sent out later tonight...I think :-)

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****Chapter 5: In a Tight Spot**

"Elladan, Elrohir—this an unexpected pleasure." Thranduil rose from his desk as the two dark-haired elves hurried into the room, a flustered servant rushing in after them.

"Your majesty, I'm sorry about this intrusion," the servant apologized profusely. "I tried to stop them but they insisted and—"

Thranduil held up a hand, stopping the overwrought elf mid-sentence. "It's all right. You may leave us." The servant nodded, shooting a dark glare at Elladan and Elrohir as he exited. "Now, what brings you two all the way to Mirkwood? I never received a message…"

"That's because none was sent." Elladan said, his face set and worried. "My Lord," He paused as if dreading the answer to his next question. "did Aragorn and Legolas arrive safely?"

"Yes, they were here." Thranduil answered.

"_Were_?" Elladan pressed anxiously. "They aren't here now?"

"No, they left over three days ago."

"Where did they go?" Elrohir asked tensely.

"They went to Laketown to renew the trade-agreement." Thranduil sighed. It was time to end this cross-examination and get a few questions of his own answered. "What has happened?"

Elladan stepped forward, holding a letter. "We received this."

Thranduil scanned the letter, his face turning gradually whiter. "We must send a party of elves out immediately."

"No." Elladan said firmly. "We can't! Don't you understand? Acharndil will hurt them or worse if we bring anyone else with us."

The elven King closed his eyes, dropping wearily into a chair. Here he'd thought Legolas "safe" at last, only to find that he'd sent him right back into harm's way. His paternal instincts were yelling at him not to waste any more time. His son needed help, in the form of an army, _now_.

"Estel is out there too," Elrohir said gently. "We must go alone. It's the only possible way we can help them. I swear, your majesty, if there is _any _way, we will get Legolas back to you safely."

Thranduil nodded wearily. "I know you will. Go, and may the Valar protect you."

-o0o-

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Aragorn dropped his pack onto the bed.

"I'm going to be meeting with a room full of men, you can hardly call that 'alone'." Legolas chuckled and set his own pack down on a chair.

So far everything had gone smoothly. The inn had been crowded, but thankfully there had been a few rooms left. Legolas had sent word that he would be coming, and everything was set for the signing of the trade-agreement. But, to Legolas' annoyance – and amusement - all three of his friends seemed to feel obliged to offer him their company at least three times each.

Dinerion looked from one face to the next as the conversation revolved around the room.

Dolenil added his voice to the conversation. "Prince Legolas, you know I would be more than glad to accompany you."

"Sweet Eru! You three are going to drive me crazy!" He put his hands on Dolenil's shoulders and looked into his eyes, startling the elf. "Look, this a _simple _renewal of treaties. I sign a few papers, shake a few hands, give a nice speech—the _same_ speech I give every time… And that's _all_. There's not even the danger of me forgetting my lines, I've said them enough times to do this in my sleep, so you don't have to worry. I appreciate your concern, but it really is nothing." He shot a sideways glance at Aragorn. "Besides, I think it's about time you showed these two sheltered Woodland elves what a real tavern is like."

Turning to the two brothers, Aragorn feigned astonishment. "What! You mean neither of you has _ever_ been inside a real tavern?"

Dolenil cringed. "Well, not _exactly_..."

The ranger smiled slyly. "Then perhaps I'll have to treat you two, and take you for a visit."

Legolas shook his head in amusement and reached for the door. "You do that, Strider."

"Hir-nín, wait, I…" Dolenil made one last attempt to sway Legolas, but the Prince was already gone.

Aragorn grinned. Dolenil shuddered.

-o0o-

Kadrin reached up and pulled his hair back, securing it at the nape of his neck with a small piece of cloth. He studied his dark clothing in the mirror and reached for his cape. Scowling slightly, he picked up the mask. It would be an irritation—masks always were—but he was convinced that, at least for this job, it would be a necessary evil.

For one thing, he was targeting more than one person. For another, he was required to capture, instead of kill, thus greatly increasing the chance of a possible escape—and his exposure. He'd never attempted anything quite like this, and although he always enjoyed the thrill of danger, in the end, if he wished to live to face new challenges, he knew he'd have to endure a few precautions.

Still, a mask… With a resigned sigh he placed it on his face, chafing at the way it dug into his skin and limited his side-vision. Really, masks were the most uncomfortable, inhibiting things. They were, in his opinion, mainly a melodramatic frivolity used by amateurs.

Scowling once more at his masked reflection in the mirror, Kadrin expertly flung the cape over his shoulders and drew the hood up over his sun-streaked hair. Capes could be another inhibiting factor, but in his case always crucial. Curse blond hair! Why couldn't he have been born with the more practical color, like black, or even brown? Once again he contemplated dying it, but then there was the trouble of re-coloring it every few weeks… But that was an old complaint of his, and he didn't have the time to obsess over trivialities tonight. Besides, even coloring his hair wouldn't really do away with the need for a cape this night. It _was_ winter, after all, and shaking from cold would do nothing to aid his aim and agility. Given his prey, he was likely to need all he possessed of both.

Now, at last, came the final part of his attire. The most enjoyable part. He picked up his unusual weapon, a glint of pleasure sharpening his steely eyes. His fingers played deftly with the length of coiled rope, a smile flickering across his face as his hand met with the chain noose at the end. Attaching it to his belt, he checked his boot-knife—an extra precaution he always brought for back-up—and turned from the mirror.

He strode out into the approaching gloom of night: a shadowy figure no sane being would wish to meet up with in a dark alley.

-o0o-

Reaching the main room, Aragorn didn't hesitate to lead his two elven companions boldly through the maze of people, tables, and chairs. Conscious of Dolenil's discomfort, he had the mercy to direct them to a table in the corner.

Dolenil grimaced as he looked at the chair being offered to him. It looked as if… He sat down hurriedly, refusing to consider the possibilities. The smell of alcohol and smoke had overwhelmed his senses the moment he'd stepped in, and now he had to fight down a wave of nausea. He'd seen places like this before, he'd just never been forced to _stay_. Resisting the urge to glare at Aragorn, he settled into his chair, doing his best to forget about his surroundings.

Dinerion sat down next to him, too interested in the kaleidoscope of people around them to notice much else. He turned around to find a young man looking curiously at him. When he caught his eyes, the boy quickly looked away, obviously embarrassed to be caught staring. Dinerion smiled, and the he glanced back up, returning the smile with a nod.

Aragorn ordered the drinks, and then settled back to watch the amusing scene—for the sake of his dignified companion, refraining from putting his feet on the table. In no time Dinerion was engaged in a lively conversation with a man sitting at the table beside them. More men were drawn into the discussion, and soon the elf had a small circle of people surrounding him.

As familiar tavern sounds and smells washed over him, Aragorn relaxed into his seat. Leaning back, with his eyes half-closed, he could almost believe he was in the familiar common room of the "Prancing Pony." This tavern might be slightly less well-kept, the patrons slightly rowdier, the smells sometimes less pleasing, but even so, it felt like… _Home_, he realized. Rivendell may be Estel's home, but for Strider, Ranger of the North, the tavern in Bree was as close to a home as he would normally have for months at a time.

A particularly jarring note in a drunken song startled him back to the present, and he realized, to his slight embarrassment, that he must have dozed off for a short while. Tough, seasoned Ranger he might be, but traveling with elves could be tiring. _Though I'll never let _them_ know if I've got any say in the matter,_ he thought with an inward smirk.

He glanced around at his companions, glad that they didn't appear to have noticed his lapse. Dinerion was still happily talking, but Dolenil… Sitting silently on the sidelines, Dolenil looked as if he wished he could melt into the shadows that lined the wall—and he was nearly succeeding. Despite himself, Aragorn felt a sudden sympathy for the tight-looking, and obviously miserable, elf. They'd already been in the room for over an hour, and Dolenil's face was starting to look a little green. He had to wonder whether it was the smell or the people. Probably both. Whatever the case, he decided it was time to pull Dinerion away from his entertainment, and save Dolenil from his torment.

But a particularly cruel side of him wouldn't let Dolenil get away quite so easily. He smiled pleasantly at his elven companion across the table. "So, Dolenil, what do you think of a tavern?"

"Disgusting." Dolenil was in no mood for pleasantries or diplomatic answers. He really was beginning to feel more than a little queasy, and the last thing he wanted to do was disgrace himself by loosing control of his stomach in front of all these humans.

Aragorn laughed. "I had a feeling you'd say something like that." He lifted his mug and took a drink. "Still, you have to admit, the drink is excellent."

Dinerion closed his eyes and tried not to think about the repulsive liquor in front of him. One drink had been one too many. He couldn't imagine anything tasting as revolting, save perhaps with the exception of some orc-brew. How he longed for just _one _sip of strong elven wine, and a breath of fresh air. Inhaling another lung-full of the hazy pipe-smoke, he tried not to cough.

"Your brother appears to be enjoying himself," Aragorn was just saying, casually nodding towards Dinerion. "We could stay for dinner…"

With effort, Dolenil managed to keep his panic from showing. He would _not _let this human get the best of him. "Dinner?" He managed to choke out. The very mention of food was noxious at the moment.

Finally Aragorn chose to have pity on him. "No, I don't think so. We really should be getting back to our rooms. Legolas should be returning soon."

Forcing himself not to look too eager, Dolenil rose with his usual dignity. Drawing on his considerably drained reserves, he managed to retain that dignity as Aragorn pulled Dinerion away from his conversation, and led them back through the maze of tables. They climbed the narrow stairway and entered their rooms.

It had been hours since Legolas had left, and the worry Aragorn had felt earlier in the day was beginning to bother him again. He brushed it aside. Perhaps Legolas had slipped in while they were downstairs?

As he entered, he scanned the room eagerly for Legolas. Finding no sign of his friend, he decided to check the small parlor that connected with Dolenil and Dinerion's room. He didn't find Legolas, but he did find his other elven companions.

Dinerion was just saying to Dolenil, "Are you sure you're alright? Your face really looks…awful."

Neither of them had noticed him standing quietly in the doorway, Aragorn realized. He took full advantage of that fact to do a little eaves-dropping. Actually, he couldn't help himself. In his "weakened" state, Dolenil seemed to be showing a different side of himself.

"Muindor," Dolenil said in voice far gentler than Aragorn had ever heard him use. "I am _fine_."

Dinerion look at his brother suspiciously. "You don't _look _'fine'."

"Well, believe it or not, tithen-muindor, I am." Dolenil said, turning away from the window. His face seemed to have lost its greenish hue at last, and some of the firmness was returning to his voice, although he still remained warm toward Dinerion. Aragorn had to resist the urge to laugh. This sounded all too much like conversations he'd had with his own brothers…

Aragorn shivered as a cool draft blew across the room. He noticed with amusement that the window next to where Dolenil stood was half open. The elf was facing the window taking deep breaths. Clearing his throat, Aragorn walked forward out of the doorway.

Dinerion looked up with a welcoming smile, as if he hadn't seen him all day. Dolenil looked as if he'd sooner decapitate the ranger than look at him. Apparently the afternoon in the tavern hadn't done anything towards consolidating their "friendship". Aragorn felt like groaning. He was getting very tired of Dolenil's cold treatment, but nothing he did or didn't do seemed to make much of difference. Instead of groaning, he settled for sinking wearily into a chair.

"How long do these treaty affirmations usually take?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"They can take quite a long time…" Dinerion answered helpfully, since Dolenil was obviously not about to offer any information.

"How long, exactly?"

"Usually not _this _long." Dinerion answered, a hint of worry evident in his voice. "Legolas really should be back by now..." Suddenly he sat up straighter in his chair. "Oh, but we forgot, Dolenil!"

"Forgot what?" Dolenil asked, for the first time paying attention to the conversation.

"Tenth year—this is the tenth year!"

Dolenil nodded thoughtfully. "Ah, that explains it then." The way the tightness in his shoulders subsided at the realization testified to his own worry.

"Tenth year?" Aragorn looked blankly at Dinerion.

Dinerion explained patiently, "Every ten years, at the signing, they celebrate another decade of peace between Mirkwood and Laketown. The celebrations sometimes last for hours. Many times they last long into the night, or even all night. At the least, Legolas probably won't be back for a couple of hours. He'll certainly be duty-bound to stay and appreciate the different wines for at least another hour. He might even decide it's too late and stay over-night—assuming we'd be smart enough to remember it was tenth year."

Aragorn nodded. It was a logical explanation… Then why couldn't he shake his feeling of unease? Despite his previous failures, he tried to rid himself of his worry once more. He shivered. Curse elves and their disregard for cold. "Well then, I don't see why we shouldn't retire." The frigid air blowing in from the window, and the frigid emotions rolling of Dolenil, only compounded his desire to escape from the room.

Dinerion stood with him and moved towards the door to their room. Without turning from the window, Dolenil said, "Maer morn, muindor, Lord Estel. I do not think I will retire yet…"

Aragorn returned to his room, shutting his door firmly against the cold flow of air coming from the open window.

-o0o-

Legolas rubbed his forehead, as if he could dispel the headache caused by two hours of sitting in the middle of a loud celebration. The chatter around him was beginning to fade into the distance as his eyelids began to droop, and then a voice next to him brought him back to full consciousness.

"Won't you have another drink?" His host smiled pleasantly. "Here, I'll have one of the servants…"

Legolas held up a hand. "No, thank you, that won't be necessary."

"I insist. You must try this vintage—it's really quite excellent."

"I'm afraid, _I _must insist this time." Legolas smiled, and said it as respectfully as his exhausted and slightly annoyed mood would allow. "It is late, and far past time for me to return to the inn."

"But, you must stay here! Please, the Prince of Mirkwood should not be staying in an _inn_! Allow me the honor of having you stay here, at my house. I will have a room prepared at once if you wish to retire…"

The man was gracious, but Legolas was finding it increasingly hard to keep his calm. Right now, he want nothing more than to give the man a firm "no" and storm out of the room. The strain of acting like a "Prince" for hours on end was making him more tense then he cared to admit.

Instead of behaving in a childish manner, which was highly appealing at the moment, he merely gave one more polite smile before rising from the table. "I really _must _go, my friends will be worrying about me by now."

At last the other man nodded. "If you must go, you must. You will give my greetings to your father?"

"I will." He bowed in farewell and strode slowly for the door. Needing to retain a sense of stateliness, he forced himself to maintain an unhurried-looking pace—even while his mind screamed for fresh night air and the quiet that waited beyond those confining doors. It seemed to take at least ten minutes longer than necessary, but he finally did reach the door and make good his escape.

He sighed deeply, reveling equally in the soothing night air around him, and the sense of release. The slight throbbing in his head was distracting though, and he knew Aragorn, Dolenil, and Dinerion would be wondering about him. True, by now Dolenil or Dinerion would probably have remembered that it was tenth year. But he had to assume the opposite in case they hadn't. A worried, irritable Aragorn could very well be awaiting his return.

He rubbed his eyes wearily and thought about the direction he should take. The route to the right would take longer, winding around closer to the edge of the lake before turning inland. But it would traverse more heavily-used roads. If he remembered correctly, the way ahead would be the more direct course to the inn. But the smaller road wove tightly between buildings, and he would have to rely strongly upon his memory to avoid getting lost in the numerous twists and turns.

Hesitating for only a moment, he stepped forward into the tight alleyway.

-o0o-

Kadrin watched the elf patiently from his high vantage point. Perfect. The elf was playing right into his hands. Even if he'd planned the ideal situation, he didn't think things could have turned out much better than this.

He reached for the rope at his hip, uncoiling it as he crept across the roof of the building with cat-like stealth. Situating himself a few yards ahead of the approaching elf, he crouched, positioning the metal noose in his hand with a slight rattle of metal.

-o0o-

Legolas stopped abruptly. Something was wrong. _Very _wrong.

His sense of unease grew with each step he took down the claustrophobically dark passage. Dark voids loomed at him from between the cramped buildings. Further back, the occasional lantern, hanging above a small shop, would pierce the darkness for moment; but now the ally took a turn for the narrower—a thing he hadn't thought possible—and all he had was the faint light coming from a quarter-moon.

He took a few more steps forward before pausing again. His senses screamed at him to turn and run back the way he'd come, but the more "sensible" part of him scoffed at the cowardly idea. Yet another part of him warned of his foolishness for ignoring the subconscious alarm he was feeling. He took a irresolute step back.

Above him, a chain rattled in the dark.

**

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**Look – my first real cliffie of the story! -sighs happily- Nothing like a good cliffie to give you the warm fuzzies, huh? -backs away from glaring readers- Hey, be nice. I'm in pain, alright? It makes me feel better to share the misery. -smiles innocently- **


	6. Renewing Animosities

**A/N: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews! You've all been so encouraging, and consistent ;-) And now, I must run outside to rake leaves... Enjoy!**

See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responsesfor chapter fivewill be sent later today.

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**Chapter 6: Renewing Animosities **

Legolas felt one final blare of warning from his senses before he felt cool metal encircle his neck. The noose tightened, pulling him upward until his feet barely touched the ground. He managed to grab one of his daggers. Stretching as far as he could, he optimistically reached upward. The strain around his neck tightened, and he gasped for breath, nearly dropping his dagger. His fingers ran deftly up the chain, not knowing exactly what he was hoping for—other than survival.

Just when his arms had at last reached their limit, his fingers touched rope. He positioned his dagger to cut, but a sudden vicious tug from above made his already wavering vision darken. As his mind began to shut down from lack of oxygen, his shaking hands automatically unclenched from the hilt of his dagger. Through his hazy consciousness, he heard the clatter as metal hit the walkway.

-o0o-

Legolas shifted and groaned as consciousness returned to him with a painful jolt.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here?"

The gruff voice booming at him from above truly made the nightmare complete. His eyes flew open, and he forced his blurry vision to focus on the leering face. He felt his anger flair into hatred as his suspicions were confirmed. But the fog was only beginning to clear from his mind, and all he could get out was a muttered:

"You!"

Dagron grinned. "Yes, _me_, elf. Were you expectin' somebody else?"

Legolas' automatic reaction was to throw himself at the man and throttle him. It was then that he realized his hands were bound. After jerking at the ropes with no success, he settled for glaring at Dagron in his best imitation of Elrond.

To his credit, Dagron's smile only faltered a little. "Aw, come now, you're not still sore at me from last time, elf? If one of us is angry it should be me." He rubbed the stub where his hand used to be. "You gave me every reason. All _I_ did was 'ave a lil' fun with the ranger." Drawing his leg back, he abruptly slammed his foot into Legolas' stomach. Observing with satisfaction the way the elf doubled over slightly and gasped as he struggled to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him, Dagron said smugly, "You can count that partial payment for all I owe you."

Legolas' glare became frigid as he regained control over his breathing. "Nostad lín sui orch," he said, scowling disdainfully. Even though Dagron stood a few feet away, he could still smell him. And his scent _was_ strongly reminiscent of orc.

"Now, elf, don't you start spoutin' insults in that filthy tongue of yours." Dagron cocked his head, leaning closer until he was nearly face-to-face with his captive.

Legolas grimaced in disgust as spittle hit him in the face. A waft of the man's breath was enough to make him nauseous. Despite his now-churning stomach, he continued to defiantly stare back, and said with deadly calm, "Thúlonaugol." He smiled at the look of rage on Dagron's face, knowing the effect his next words would have. "Would you like me to translate that for you?"

Dagron's short-temper flared, and he grabbed Legolas the by the front of his shirt, slamming him against the wall. "You're just as bad as that ranger!"

"I certainly hope so," Legolas answered with a cynical laugh, simultaneously clenching his teeth in expectation of more violence. _This is suicide... _A more intelligent side of him groaned.

"Your cousin would not be happy if he could see you now." A new voice spoke up from behind Dagron. For the first time, Legolas realized there were others in the room. "I suggest you put the prisoner down." When Dagron hesitated, the man said firmly, "Now."

Snarling, Dagron shoved Legolas into the wall and whirled on the newcomer. "I don't need _your _advice!"

Ignoring him, the man walked over to Legolas and calmly checked the ropes that bound Legolas' hands behind his back.

"What, you think I'm stupid enough to leave him untied?" Dagron sneered.

"Yes, I do." The man took a canteen out and offered Legolas a drink, all the while retaining an attitude that was unsympathetic but practical.

Dagron glared at the man, as if trying to burn a hole in his back. "You may be Kadrin Númair, and you man be legendary, but you'll still not be ordering _me _around!"

Kadrin grimaced slightly at the way Dagron mutilated the pronunciation of his name, but otherwise remained unaffected by his tirade, never so much as looking back from his crouched position. At last, Dagron slunk off to the other end of the room.

Legolas swallowed his pride and accepted the water. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, but he was terribly thirsty and he had no idea when he might have another opportunity to drink.

He took a quick glance about the room and spotted several more men sitting close by talking in lowered voices. At last he risked a glance at the man in front of him. His defiant blue eyes, met a pair of amused blue ones. Instantly, both pairs of eyes intensified with curiosity. Kadrin, for one of the few times in his life, felt he'd found a near-worthy rival when it came to the stare-down. Legolas held his own, returning his opponent's incisive look with an equally unmoved, but searching, glance of his own.

After many seconds had ticked by, and their glances still had not altered, Kadrin's mouth finally curved into a smile. He nodded slowly, "I have watched and followed you for many days. It was an unprecedented pleasure to be hunting down an elf. I _had _expected more complications—more of a challenge from you. Now seeing you, I wonder at your carelessness."

"Then it was _you _who captured me." It was statement, not a question. Legolas' eyes blazed, but he kept his voice purposeful and even. His eye darted to the rope and chain on Kadrin's belt. "Why? What do you want with me?"

The chain noose rattled as Kadrin stood. "What do _I _want with you? Nothing."

"Then why did you capture me?" His voice rose a notch as he watched the infuriatingly calm figure in front of him.

"Because, that is what I am _paid _to do." The smile on Kadrin's face became even more irritating.

Legolas eyed him suspiciously. So the man was a mercenary of some kind. He was obviously a professional. Dagron had called him Kadrin Númair… The name did have a familiar ring to it, but at the moment he couldn't remember where he could have heard it before.

Deep in thought, his gaze unconsciously looked past the man in front of him and fell on Dagron. Suddenly it all fell into place. What an idiot he'd been being. With Dagron here, Acharndil couldn't be far behind—or rather ahead. Dagron wasn't exactly the brains of the outfit. That was the question that had confused him: who was behind this?

Now, at last, things were coming together. He only hoped that his friends would figure it out more quickly then he had.

-o0o-

Kadrin gripped the rope hard. Lowering himself slowly from the roof of the inn, he intertwined his legs with the rope and adjusted the speed of his descent with his hands. Finding the ranger's room had been easy—too easy. Listening in on conversations and following people through crowds was the drudgery of an assassin's job. Learning what room the human was in had been simple. For those less attuned to the chase perhaps it would present more of a challenge, or perhaps the easy part would be what they looked forward to. But not for Kadrin Númair, he lived for moments like this.

Under the various layers of dark clothing he could feel his heart beating. Blood pounded in his ears. He felt the grace of his movements improve as adrenaline took over. It was only his extreme self-discipline that kept his hands from shaking with anticipation. For him, it was the terror of the moment that always made it worthwhile.

By the dim light coming from the sliver of moon overhead, he could only faintly make out the outline of the windowsill below him. He slid down the remaining distance, unwrapping his legs from the rope, and landing softly on the sill. Now for opening the window. This would be a challenge in his awkward position, and without waking anyone, but he'd done it before. Still holding on the rope, he carefully reached for the glass…. He almost pitched forward into the room when his hands met with nothing more substantial than air.

He appeared to be in luck: the window was open. His initial reaction was to welcome the solved obstacle, but in an instant his experienced mind reminded him of the possibility of a trap. It was cold outside, why leave a window open? Despite his better judgment, he let go of the rope and pushed his legs in, noiselessly gliding into the room. He didn't have time to wonder, Acharndil expected the job to be done tonight. He moved forward, all senses heightened.

The next moment would replay in his mind a thousand times, to his eternal embarrassment. Starting, he just about cried out when he nearly came face-to-face with the open-eyed, staring face of an elf. He stood stock-still, staring back into the blue eyes, automatically reaching for his knife. But the elf never moved. With a sudden rush of acute humiliation, his mind recalled the elven sleeping habits he'd had the chance to witness on their journey here. There would be enough time later to feel embarrassed, now he had to move.

Using all his stealth so as not to wake the elf, he moved into the ranger's room, gently pushing the door open. His light leather boots made no sound as he neared the bed. With a smile he produced a dagger from his belt and leaned forward.

-o0o-

Aragorn woke slowly.

Remembering Legolas, he opened his bleary eyes a crack. Surely his friend would be back by now? Although anxious to see his friend, he was still groggy, and reluctant to get out of bed.

Vowing to make a move towards getting out of bed soon, he opened his eyes further, studying the ceiling. It took his foggy brain a few seconds to realize that there was something intruding on his gaze. Transferring his eyes to the long object, it took his still-sleepy mind yet another moment to realize he was staring at the hilt of a dagger.

He jerked up in bed, suddenly wide awake, and whirled around to have better look at the dagger protruding from the head-board of his bed. It was embedded deeply in the wood, pinning up a small piece of paper. He grasped the familiar hilt and pulled the dagger out to stare at it in puzzled apprehension. The beautifully etched leaf-work on the blade removed any doubt in his mind as to its being Legolas'. Dread gnawed at him. Legolas would _never _leave his weapons…unless…

He scanned the note briefly, and was already out of bed and half-way to the door before he'd finished reading it. Without ceremony, he burst into the next room. Dolenil was standing in front of the window, as if he hadn't moved from the spot all night, only the window was now closed.

Not waiting for an invitation to speak, Aragorn nearly yelled, "He has Legolas!"

Dolenil spun around. "What are you talking about?"

Before Dolenil had the chance to inquire further, or Aragorn to answer, there was a loud crash in the other bedroom. In a few moments, Dinerion burst from the room, much in the manner of Aragorn, asking breathlessly, "What's happened?" Clothes and hair askew, the young elf clutched a dagger in one hand.

"_This _is what's happened," Aragorn said, holding out the letter.

The two brothers read it, suddenly, with horrible clarity, understanding Aragorn's alarm.

"Who is Acharndil?" Dinerion asked, looking from the anxious face of Dolenil, to that of Aragorn. He understood that Legolas was in trouble, but as for _why _he was in trouble, he were still very much in the dark.

But Aragorn was already reaching for the door that led out into the hall. "I'll explain to you later. We must search for Legolas. Quickly."

Dolenil cleared his throat. "Excuse me, my Lord, but your apparel does not seem to be appropriate for an exploration of Laketown." He continued diplomatically, "And you may wish to take additional arms with you?"

Aragorn stopped, realizing that he'd almost made the embarrassing mistake of running off to search for his friend in nothing but his night-shirt and leggings. Lowering Legolas' dagger, which he still held clenched in his fist, he quickly turned back to his own room.

Dolenil leaned on the windowsill, bringing his fist down with a small sound of disgust. Honed in on his brother's feelings as always—not that it took much to discern them at the moment—Dinerion took a step forward. "Muindor," he started quietly. "it's not your fault, you know."

Dolenil's head shot up. "Not my fault? Don't you understand?"

"I don't see what there _is _to understand."

"I could have prevented this," Dolenil said with fierce self-accusation. "I shouldhave gone with him!"

"Dolenil, it's not your fault," Dinerion repeated, taking another step nearer his brother. "Legolas never would have let any of us go with him, and there was no reason for us to think he was in any danger, anyways." His luck for the moment apparently giving out, Dinerion tripped on the rug and plummeted towards his brother, dagger still held dangerously in one hand.

Dolenil, swiftly recovering from his morose attitude, moved forward to catch him. "Muindor, be careful. You're going to hurt yourself one of these days." He steadied his brother, adding more gently, "And then where would I be?"

Dinerion responded to his gentle teasing with a sheepish grin. "Safe?"

Giving one of his rare genuine smiles, Dolenil straightened his brother's haphazard tunic, unbuttoning and redoing the crooked buttons on the front. "No, not safe, tithen-muindor, lonely. Very lonely."

Aragorn reentered the room loudly, still buckling his sword-belt around his waist. Dinerion sheathed his dagger, and said quietly as they turned to follow the ranger, "We will find him, Dolenil."

* * *

**TBC...**

**Ok, there you have chapter six! Chapter seven, should still go up next sat, or late Fri, if I have the energy and time :-)**


	7. Worthy Opponents

**A/N: Woohoo, I survived gum surgery, and now the stitches are out so I'm feeling more like smiling! -g- And I'm also feeling a lot more like writing...-rubs hand together- Thank you all so much for thereviews, Ican't tell you how many timesI read and re-read all the reviews I get from you ;-) **

**Hope you enjoy the chapter! **

**See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responses will soon be on their way... **

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**Chapter 7: Worthy Opponents **

Kadrin smiled as he observed the elf from his shadowed position beyond the circle of light cast by the lantern. It would be very interesting to see his reaction. Indeed, the idea was too interesting to pass up.

He stepped out from behind the large pile of crates, stepping into the light and taking a seat on box only a few feet away from Legolas. Casually drawing up one leg and resting one arm on his knee, he stroked chin thoughtfully with the other hand. Waiting until he was sure the elf was watching, he purposefully drew out the coil of rope from beneath his cape. Then he took out another length of chain from his belt, the links jingling together eerily in the otherwise nearly silent room.

Now he had Legolas' full attention. He watched the human warily from his vantage point, tied against a heavy wooden supporting beam. He suppressed a wince as he shifted slightly. Dagron had, for once, proven himself quite diligent and thorough when he had tied him here—any tighter and the ropes would cut off his circulation entirely.

"Well, elf, I enjoyed our last conversation very much," Kadrin said, cocking his head and smiling curiously into the pair of defiant blue eyes.

"Really?" Legolas asked incredulously. "So you not only enjoy the capture, but afterwards you must torture your victim with 'pleasant' conversation." Legolas scanned the dark warehouse. It did little good. The lantern seemed to provide the only light, and that but little. He couldn't even be certain it _was_ a warehouse he was being kept in. "I suppose next you're going to ask what I think of the weather?" he scoffed.

"No…" Kadrin humored him, his fathomless resources of patience not half-spent. "I was thinking more along the lines of: what do you think the chances are that your friend will do better than you?"

Legolas started, his normally clear eyes clouding with anger. "And which friend of mine are you planning on being bested by?"

Kadrin threw back his head and laughed. This elf was truly a pleasure to talk to. "So you are that confident in the skills of this human that follows you so faithfully?"

"Strider?" He tried not to show the alarm he was beginning to feel. "Yes, I have every confidence in him."

"You think a human will succeed where you, an elf, have failed?" Kadrin raised an eyebrow. Keeping an eye on the elf to gage his reaction, he began to fit the new chain to the length of rope.

"Race has nothing to do with it," Legolas said vehemently. "I learned long ago that honor and courage can be found in men, as well as elves." Looking pointedly at Kadrin, he added, "As can evil." He smiled insolently. "My friend could easily outwit you."

Kadrin nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps… I can only hope he will present a challenge." He tested the new chain noose, eyes shining with satisfaction.

Legolas couldn't repress a shudder. The chain was now at least a foot longer. Even Aragorn, tall as he was, wouldn't be able to reach far enough up to cut the rope. Not caring if his captor thought him weak, he closed his eyes briefly against the sight of the repulsive object.

_Aragorn, mellon-nín, what have we gotten ourselves into this time? _

Kadrin's peculiar smile remained unwavering. The elf was obviously worried about his friend, despite his bold words. It was tempting to linger, this elf provided conversation like he hadn't experienced in a long time… But he had a challenge to face, if this mesmerizing being told the truth. And more than that, he had a job to do. A new quarry to hunt. A human to catch.

-o0o-

Aragorn hurriedly led the way out into the street.

"Do you two know your way around here well?" He addressed his two elven companions anxiously. "What's the most direct route to the place where Legolas went to sign the treaty?"

Dolenil nodded grimly, putting any past animosity behind. Legolas came first. "That is the most direct route." He motioned straight ahead. He said more darkly, "Curse our decision to take rooms so far from where the trade-agreements took place."

Aragorn sighed, finding surprisingly little amusement at the moment in the fact that Dolenil had just cursed a decision that had been primarily his revered Prince's idea. "We couldn't have foreseen this. Legolas only wanted to be as far away as was politely possible. None of us wanted delegates popping in and out to exchange pleasantries. Now we must make the best of our circumstances." Without waiting for confirmation from either of the elves, Aragorn headed down the narrow alleyway that wound tightly between the buildings.

Dolenil ended up taking the lead as they drew closer. He'd accompanied Legolas once or twice before, and he knew the way well enough.

Aragorn didn't dispute the change in leadership. For him too, Legolas took precedence. He knew he'd never forgive himself if he allowed a petty quarrel to interfere with Legolas' safety. Haste was what was needed now, not argument.

Dinerion, for his part, had enough to focus on, staying disaster-free as he kept pace behind the two of them.

By the time they reached the house where the treaty-signing had taken place, all three of them were nearly ready to knock down the door. To Mordor with diplomacy, they need answers _now. _

The sleepily-bumbling man who opened the door quickly turned obsequious at the sight of the two elves, and a human, all evidently armed and determined to enter.

"My Lords," he said, bowing. "it is still very early. If you will wait…"

Aragorn put his foot in the doorway, and said firmly, "We will see the master of the house _now_."

It was said in the tone of one used to commanding, and the man, obviously used to obeying, hesitated. He stepped back deferentially, allowing them entrance. "I will have to see if my Lord is ready to see you."

"Tell him we _must _see him," Aragorn said urgently. "It is of extreme importance."

"But, my Lords, the master is undoubtedly still abed. I doubt he will wish to see anyone until this afternoon, at the earliest. After last night—"

"It is _about _last night that we wish to speak with him!" Dolenil looked ready to march up the stairs and search the bedrooms.

Aragorn put a restraining hand on the elf's shoulder, and said as politely as his shaken nerves would allow, "If you would please inform your master that there are some elves from Mirkwood asking for him, we would be most indebted."

The servant grumbled a bit, but finally headed upstairs. After a couple of excruciating minutes had passed, the master of the house didappear.

Not trusting Dolenil to keep his tempter, Aragorn addressed him before the elf had a chance. "Forgive us for waking you, but something urgent has come up. Is Prince Legolas still here?"

The man blinked at them blankly, tired eyes scanning them with confusion. Aragorn suppressed a few colorful phrases, which sprang to mind—_quite_ a few. The man was apparently either suffering from amnesia or, more likely, a severe hangover and exhaustion from a late night of celebration.

"Prince Legolas?" The man asked, still blinking tiredly, as if trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

"Yes, Legolas, the Prince of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil, heir to the throne…" Aragorn said, his impatience bordering on sarcasm. "He was here last night, was he not? We need to know if he's still here now."

A light dawned behind the man's eyes, and he seemed to regain some of his senses. "Ah, The Prince of Mirkwood! Yes, yes, he was here last night. Why? Is something wrong?"

Aragorn closed his eyes briefly and said wearily, "Yes, unfortunately there is. I'm afraid that Legolas has gone missing."

"Missing?" the man repeated with alarm.

"We received a message saying he has been kidnapped. We had hoped he'd stayed here last night…" The ranger's voice trailed off.

"No, he was in a hurry to return to his friends—I suppose that would be you—and he left the celebration quite early." The man rubbed his forehead agitatedly. "This is horrible…The son of Thranduil disappearing _here_, not far from my home… Please, you must allow me to help—I will give you all the aid I can."

"We thank you for your offer..." Aragorn paused, realizing they'd never been properly introduced.

"Eathol, my name is Eathol." Before Aragorn could remember his manners and introduce himself, the man hurried on, "Please, tell me what I can do to help?"

"Thank you, Eathol, for your offer, but I'm afraid there is little you can do to help at the moment. We must search for the Prince now, and hope his captors haven't taken him far."

"But surely I could alert the authorities for you? I could gather a search party…"

"Again, thank you." Aragorn was truly grateful for the man's willingness to help, but he was chafing to start looking for his friend. "I think it would be best we do this alone for the time being. I do not wish to alert his kidnappers. I fear they are holding him hostage."

Eathol's face paled considerably at his words. "Hostage? Surely not… Who would do such a thing, and why?"

"I'm afraid I can not answer all your questions right now." Aragorn wasn't about to explain all the complications about Acharndil and the letter they'd just received. "We must leave." He glanced at Dolenil and Dinerion, who'd remained silent during the conversation. He could tell their nerves were on edge.

"I could easily gather together some other men, and my own son would be more than willing to be your guide, if you should need one. You will tell me if you need anything? " Eathol asked as they turned to go.

Aragorn nodded. "Yes, thank you."

As soon as the door was firmly closed between them and Eathol, Dinerion let out a long breath. "It's a wonder that Legolas ever managed to escape from there—I thought he'd never let us leave!"

Aragorn chuckled lightly in agreement, before quickly sobering. "Is there another direction Legolas might have taken last night?"

"Yes," Dolenil answered, relieved to finally be _doing _something. "he may have turned to the right and walked along by the lake. It's longer, but better lit and more heavily traveled: there's less of a chance you'll get lost going that way."

"Well, I find it hard to believe Legolas was thinking of that last night. Still, we should look at all possible routes. Why don't I go back the way we came, looking more closely for any signs. You and Dinerion go the other way." Aragorn was a little startled at how quickly Dolenil complied, nodding silently and leading Dinerion along the edge of the water without so much as one complaint and no more than a moment's hesitation. Shrugging, he headed off in the other direction.

-o0o-

It was fairly sunny out, the wispy patches of cloud only floating across the face of the sun every once in a while, and then only managing to cover it partially. Even in the overcrowded alley, shafts of sunlight found their way down between the tightly-packed buildings.

Apprehension gnawed at Aragorn's heart, despite the cheerful weather. If Legolas had taken this way last night, when it was completely dark out… He could just picture a lurker hiding between two buildings, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike out at an unsuspecting passerby. He shuddered.

Elves had tremendous hearing capabilities, and even on a very dark night their sight was far superior to a human's, and he knew from experience that Legolas had fast reflexes, but that didn't make him invulnerable. Besides, even from his amateur point of view, the narrow alleyway seemed the ideal situation for a kidnapping. And Legolas hadn't known he was in danger, so why shouldn't he have taken a route through the shadier part of town? The average ruffian didn't pick a fight with an elven warrior—especially here in Laketown, where the residents were allies, and even the most ill-intentioned were familiar enough with elves and their skills to keep their distance. So why would he have worried?

So far, he hadn't found any signs of Legolas, or his captors, and the lack of evidence was maddening. If they _had _to go and make his friend vanish into thin air, couldn't they have left a few clues behind? Other than the dagger and pretentious letter they'd left in his room, that is.

He walked slowly, anxious to find any evidence that might help him know what had happened to Legolas. The worn cobblestones beneath him were covered here and there with snow, and every now and then he could make out a footprint. Really, the difficulty wasn't that he wasn't finding footprints, but that he was actually making out a whole _lot _of footprints. It was dispiriting to say the least, and the chilling pictures his mind kept sending him of stalkers in the night weren't much of a comfort either. As he hurried past another gloomy dead-end with a shudder, he began to feel extremely childish. Thank Illúvatar Dolenil wasn't here with him.

But then again, at the moment, he had a strange feeling company—even _Dolenil's _company—wouldn't have been the worst thing to have along.

-o0o-

Kadrin worked hard to suppress a chuckle. Two simple captures in a row. If he weren't so disappointed in the lack of challenge they were presenting him with, he'd be enjoying himself.

The ranger was walking, more like strolling, through the alley, hardly looking up at all. With the advantage of being able to see him clearly in the daylight, without the human seeing him, it was really _too _easy. Also, thanks to the elf's ingenuity, he'd been reminded to add a longer chain to the end of his rope. Despite the human's height, he'd never be able to reach high enough to cut the rope.

It was still hardly past dawn, but the early-risers of Laketown would soon be up, and he'd have to remove the man before that. This would have to be quick.

-o0o-

Aragorn kneeled, unheeding of the wetness that was soaking through his pants. The signs of a struggle were obvious to his trained eyes, but the strange thing was, it appeared that who ever had been struggling had been struggling against no one. The footprints here looked to belong to but one person. The marks from the boot looked like Legolas', but who or what had he been fighting? It made no sense. Unless… He paused, considering the possibility. It made no sense—unless the attack had come from above.

Slowly, he tilted his head upwards. His eyes widened, and he froze, as a chain suddenly dropped around his neck. Before he had time to recognize the threat, the noose was drawn tight. He gasped and he instinctively reached up to feel the cold, impenetrable metal. Even as he felt lack of oxygen begin to rob his brain of functional thought, he suddenly felt cold fury flow over him. Whoever was on the other end of this rope was, undoubtedly, the same person who'd captured Legolas.

Anger hotly coursing trough him, he tightened his hold on the chain, and pulled with all the strength his rage would lend him.

**TBC...**

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**As an end note, I'd just like to give a special thanks to all of you who reviewed "Freezing": **_Ainu Laire, invisigoth3, Star-Stallion,QueenofFlarmphgal, Evergreene, Patty, HarryEstel, viggomaniac, Poppy Cotton of Underhill, Black as the Shadows, XoGiggles, lindahoyland, KerowynGreenleaf, and Silivren Tinu_

**And thanks also to **_Poppy Cotton of Underhill _**for reviewing "He's Gone", and to **_Black as the Shadows _**for reviewing "First Impressions".**

**Thank you all so much! **

**Dun dun dun dun... Wow, I just realized this chapter ends in a cliffie! Well, what do ya know... Next chapter, as usual, should be up on time by Sat.:-)**


	8. Watch Your Back

**A/N: -looks suspiciously at readers- It seems a number of people are actually _hoping_ that Aragorn doesn't win this fight! -shakes head- Really, you can't expect a nice person like me to cater to desires like _that!_I mean, seriously,does anyone here think I'd actually do something like that to the poor ranger! -eyes sea of raised hands- Um, well... Apparently I have to work on my image as an author a bit... **

**Here's chapter eight—enjoy:-)**

**See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer resonses will be sent ASAP.

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****Chapter 8: Watch your Back **

Kadrin held the rope taught, feeling the strength of the man below waver. Well, the elf had been wrong about this human. It didn't appear he was going to have any difficulty at all bringing this one in. A pity, it seemed there'd be no adrenaline rush to relieve the day of its tediousness.

Without warning, strength returned to the other end of the line, and the surprised assassin suddenly found himself jerked forward. A few colorful phrases escaped his mouth as the rope he'd wrapped around his arm for leverage bit painfully into his skin. He grabbed desperately at a passing chimney,to stop his forward progress.Bracing himself against a ledge, he returned the jerk with a powerful pull of his own.

Apparently _he _had been the one who had underestimated his opponent. He would have to remember to congratulate the elf once he once he was in less dire circumstances. Feeling his arm go numb as its circulation was cut off, he smiled. Well, he'd certainly asked for it.

The next moments were the most vital. He couldn't afford to keep the pressure on the line for too long, or he'd wind up with a dead body on his hands. He let a dangerous few extra seconds pass by. Then, finally feeling the dead-weight of the unconscious man add to the strain on the line, he lowered the rope.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dolenil scanned the streets guardedly. Where had that cursed human gone to? They'd been waiting nearly a half hour! He should have arrived here _before _them, instead of after. What was taking so long?

"Don't worry, Dolenil, he's probably just taking a long time because he's looking for signs of Legolas." Dinerion spoke up comfortingly at his side.

"I'm not worried about him," Dolenil said hastily. "It's for the Prince that I worry."

Dinerion looked at him doubtfully, and Dolenil looked away. He wasn't worried about the human… Perhaps a little concerned, but that was entirely different. His primary anxiety still rested with the Prince.

After waiting another hour, Dolenil fell to pacing. Eru, if only that human would return! Legolas was already missing—they needed all they help they could get. What was he doing that could possibly take _this_ long?

Finally discarding the last threads of his patience, Dolenil stepped out into the street. "Come, muindor, we'll see what the Adan has gotten himself into this time."

He led Dolenil down long narrow alleyways at a rapid pace for some minutes, before stopping with an audible sigh. His slight concern for the human was turning into outright irritation. Doubtless, he'd found some clue, and was even now following the Prince's trail… In the hopes of single-handedly rescuing him? Admittedly, the idea sounded rash, even for the ranger, but that didn't mean it was beyond him. Dolenil had experienced first-hand what the two of them were willing to risk for the other. He'd seen his Prince come close to giving his life to help the human, and obviously that loyalty was reciprocated.

Keeping his harsh judgments to himself, all he said to his brother was, "He has probably found a clue, or had an idea and is checking it out. We should return and wait for him."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dinerion curiously watched the slow trickle of people walking past the their position in front of the inn. A few them, those less aware of the habits of elves, stared back at the lightly-clad foreigners, who apparently didn't feel the coolness of the winter morning air. Dinerion always smiled back, and they quickly moved on.

After ten more minutes of observing the street, waiting impatiently for the human to appear, Dinerion, conscious of his brother's mood, probed tentatively, "We could go in to the common room to wait…"

Dolenil had to deliberately remind himself that Dinerion was not responsible for the situation they were in, to keep from snapping back. "You may go in if you wish." Shuddering slightly at claustrophobic memories of the tavern, he added, "I prefer to stay out here and wait."

Dinerion nodded, letting the subject drop. Even for an elf, Dolenil had an acute phobia of tight, closed in spaces. He could tell his brother wasn't eager to return to the stuffy inn, and especially the common room.

In concern, he watched his brother run a hand wearily through his hair. To most people the gesture would have meant nothing, but Dinerion know his brother well enough to see the mannerism for the warning that it was. When his brother reached this level of stress it was usually best to ease off and give him a few minutes to re-gather his composure.

"Muindor, I think I'll go see if the horses are being looked after properly…"

Dolenil gave him a strange look. "The horses?"

"Yes, I just want to make sure they're being treated well…" He left quickly, not waiting to see the response his lame excuse would receive.

Dolenil shook his head as he watched his brother round the corner, in spite of his mood, he couldn't help a small chuckle.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Legolas peered into the shadows until he thought he'd go mad.

His eyes had long ago adjusted to the darkness, the only light-source being a small lantern, but there was hardly anything to see.

The only thing he'd figured out for certain was that he was in a warehouse. The dilapidated building was at least two stories high, and stacks of old crates were piled randomly here and there, making the large room into a labyrinth of empty boxes. Overhead, catwalks stretched from one end of the building to the other, running past thick, wooden support beams.

But the last piece of frustration was the windows. All he could make out was their faint outline; at least he _thought _they were windows. They were high-up on the wall, and so layered with grime, that no matter how long he stared, he couldn't see a thing past the dirt. It was maddening; he couldn't even tell whether it was day or night!

He would have found some satisfaction in glaring at his captors, but the few men left to guard him appeared completely indifferent, seemingly content to smoke all day long, ignoring his existence.

It was just as well; he had much more pressing problems at the moment. Like how he was going to strangle Kadrin with his arms tied behind his back around a very sturdy pole. If that animal captured his friend, he'd have to figure out a way to do just that. Strange how much satisfaction the thought gave him. Wiping that infuriating smile off his face was sounding more and more attractive.

"Ah, Legolas, what an honor," a deep, and familiar, voice spoke up at his side.

Legolas looked up at Acharndil, hiding a start at his sudden appearance. Apparently he had been deeper in thought than he had realized. The man had hardly changed since their last encounter. A few more grey hairs streaked his dark hair, and there were one or two more lines on his weather-beaten face.

Acharndil smiled. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Prince of Mirkwood."

"I wish I could say the same," Legolas spat out the mock formality.

Acharndil shook his head. "Prince Legolas, why all the animosity?"

Legolas stared at him disbelievingly. "Why? As if poisoning and hurting my friends isn't enough, you've captured and used me as a hostage against them twice!" If he weren't so angry, Legolas would have stopped to consider the irony of his repetitive situation.

Their conversation was, mercifully, cut short by a new presence.

"Ah, Kadrin, my friend, I was waiting for you!" Acharndil greeted the man.

As Kadrin stepped into the light, Legolas noticed he was caring a heavy form slung over his shoulder. The worn leather jacket should have been proof enough, but Legolas watched anxiously, wishing more than anything to be proven wrong. However, when Kadrin lowered the unconscious man to the ground, his face was finally revealed, removing his lingering doubts.

_Strider..._

Furiously, Legolas turned on the assassin.

Kadrin chuckled lightly, holding his forearm where the rope had cut him. "Well, elf, if would appear your faith in your friend was nearly justifiable. He almost ruined me tonight."

Somewhere beyond the rage he was feeling, Legolas faintly wondered what the man found so amusing about being "almost ruined".

He looked over at his friend, anxiously trying to see the rise and fall of his chest. Unconsciously, he strained at his bonds, longing to be free to check for a pulse.

Kadrin walked over to his friend's prone body, pulling his hands behind his back and tying them. He dragged Aragorn over next to Legolas, and propped him up against the next supporting beam, some two or three feet away.

Legolas felt a mixture of relief and renewed anger at the action. Now he knew Aragorn was alive, but why? What were they being held here for? Hostage purposes seemed the only logical reason, and Acharndil had done it before. But then why here in Laketown? Surely the only people Acharndil could—or would—use them against were the twins. They were too far away from Rivendell for that to be very practicable. Besides, surely he didn't think Elladan and Elrohir would be so foolish as to rush out to meet him like they had the first time. Elrond wouldn't let them. Would he?

Next to him, Aragorn's head lolled forward lifelessly. Legolas flinched at the sight of his neck. A line of blood marked where the chain had tightened around his neck, tearing the skin. From the soreness and stiffness in his own neck, he realized he probably didn't look much better.

Gazing at the limp form of his friend, suddenly he felt the overwhelming need for answers.

"What do you plan on doing with us?" A triumphant thought struck him. "Surely you don't plan on using us against the sons of Elrond a second time." He smiled, sure of himself in this, at least. "If so, you're doomed to disappointment; Elladan and Elrohir are nowhere near enough to fall into one of your traps."

"Ah, but they may be nearer than you think, your majesty." Acharndil seemed just as confident. "Sadly, I have pressing duties, so our conversation, pleasant as it is, shall just have to wait until later." He inclined his head to Legolas, before turning to Kadrin. "Can you do one more job for me? I know you've had a…busy day, but I do not think it is in out best interest to leave this until later."

Kadrin tied off the strip of cloth he was winding around his arm. "Of course. Only name what you would like me to do."

"I do believe assassination, rather then kidnapping, is more your line of work?" Acharndil paused long enough for Kadrin to nod. "Well, then, perhaps you would enjoy…eliminating one of our threats?"

Kadrin's face remained impassive, but his cold eyes seemed to glow at the proposition. "I'm listening."

"Well, then I shall put it quite bluntly: get rid of one of the elves. Either one, it hardly matters. Just so long as the remaining one doesn't have anyone to send back to Mirkwood for reinforcements."

This time a small smile appeared on Kadrin's face. "I see." He pulled an dark leather armguard from his belt and strapped it over the bandage on his arm. "Then consider it done."

Legolas wanted to tear them to pieces right then and there. Acharndil had addressed this subject in front of him on purpose, and Kadrin had played along skillfully. He even flashed him a smile as bowed to Acharndil and left. They'd both guessed how hearing those plans would affect him.

The hardest thing was, they'd guessed right.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dinerion started.

He could have sworn he'd heard creaking. Shrugging, he continued to run his hand over his horse's velvety muzzle. The barn was decrepit, and the old, wooden supports were bound to make noises occasionally. Another faint creaking noise met his keen hearing. The mare's ears twitched nervously, and she began to shy away from his touch.

"Sedho, mellon-nín, calm down my friend," he whispered soothingly in elvish, running his fingers down the side of her neck. The horse responded instantly to the reassuring influence of his voice and touch, visibly calming. Still, the animal was alert, snorting softly at the smallest noise, and nuzzling his hand anxiously.

Dinerion frowned. "What is it? What do you hear?" He continued to run his hand over the mare's forehead, whispering comforting phrases in Sindarin, even while he began to glance around the dimly-lit space.

A sudden noise from above jerked his attention towards the loft. Now he knew it wasn't just his imagination. He was sure he'd heard a floorboard creak. Floorboards didn't move on their own.

_Quit stating the obvious and _do_ something! _His senses screamed.

Above him, a face appeared over the edge of the loft. He caught a brief glimpse of a hooded figure, and then a chain noose was around his neck.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dolenil sighed and glanced up at the sky. It was already afternoon. Still no sign of the ranger. The clue he found must have been extremely good to have kept him this long, he though sourly.

Then he noticed, with a slight pang of anxiety, that his brother hadn't returned yet either. Surely twenty minutes was a long time to check on horses, even for Dinerion.

A picture of his brother, tripping and impaling himself on a pitchfork sprang to mind. As ludicrous as the idea might seem, especially for an elf, it wasn't so very implausible in Dinerion's case. A tremor of dread swept over him. If something were ever to happen to his brother, he'd never forgive himself.

He headed for the barn. It was far better to be paranoid now, than to regret carelessness later.

No fanciful images of his brother impaled on a pitchfork could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him. Dinerion swung limply from a chain noose, eyes closed, face pale. In the loft above, he could just make out the crouched silhouette of a man—holding the other end of the rope.

With a furious cry, he ran forward, simultaneously pulling out a dagger and throwing it at the assailant. There was a small grunt of surprised pain from the loft, and the rope went lax, allowing Dinerion to fall to the ground. Dolenil looked up just in time to see a cloaked figure disappear through the loft window. His first instinct was to chase the man. He took half a step in the direction of the ladder before reality brought him to a stand-still.

Dinerion.

He rushed over to his brother's side. Kneeling, he gently lifted his brother's head into his lap. "Dinerion, muindor…Answer me." There was no response. "Dinerion!"

The pale face in his lap remained expressionless. No rhythmic pulse met his frantically searching fingers. No steady rise and fall of his brother's chest met his swimming vision.

**

* * *

****TBC…**

**Ahhh…there's one less OC -sighs contentedly- Those guys are _so_ uncooperative sometimes... This doesn't count as a cliffy, does it? **

**Next chapter up next Saturday (boring, I know…). Please drop a review if you have the time! **


	9. Uncertainties

**A/N: Well, I guess I'd better post this quick, before I get whisked off to help with unpacking :-P Sorry about the cliffie last time…Not. –g-**

**See chapter one for disclaimers. I'll send reviewer responses ASAP. **

**Note to Deep Sorrow: I did try sending you your response last week…but unfortunately my e-mail decided that this week your address didn't exist :-P I will try and get it to work this week… **

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****Chapter 9: Uncertainties **

"No…" It came out as a horse whisper. A despairing calm settled over Dinerion, as he stared, disbelieving, at the still body of his brother.

He'd considered the possibility of a violent death for himself—he was a warrior after all—but Dinerion? His brother was a warrior too, but somehow his friendly, almost child-like personality had always made his position as a soldier of Mirkwood seem almost like pretend. He'd always been there to protect Dinerion when things got "serious". Never mind the fact that Dinerion was a competent warrior himself, he'd always seemed far too naive for the role despite his considerable battle-skills.

Dolenil took his brother's hand in his own. On impulse, his fingers searched once more for any sign of life. Remembering how panicked his attempts to find a pulse had been, he began to check again—slowly this time. A small exclamation of surprise escaped his lips, for there, below his persistent touch, he could feel a sluggish pulse. Now free of tears, his eyes could see the faint, but steady, rise and fall of his chest.

With infinite care, he removed the chain from around his brother's neck. He felt sudden anger well up in him at the sight of the line of blood around his throat, but quickly pushed it aside. Right now his brother needed his help, not his anger. He couldn't go chasing after the mysterious assailant—yet. There would be time enough for that later.

"Muindor, please, I need you to wake up," he urged softly, touching his brother's face lightly.

To his relief, Dinerion's eyes slowly opened. "Dolenil?" he croaked. His hand reached up for his throat, as if making sure he was still alive. A sheepish smile spread over his face. "I though I was dead."

Dolenil struggled to keep the emotion out of his voice. "So did I." Aware that if he stayed on the subject much longer, he'd break down, Dolenil changed the subject to more practical matters. "Here, come, we should get you inside." He helped Dinerion rise, forcing him to lean heavily on his shoulder.

"Dolenil, just because I was nearly strangled doesn't mean I can't walk on my own…" Dinerion complained as Dolenil half carried him towards the inn.

Reluctantly, Dolenil allowed him to carry a little more of his own weight. They limped through to doorway, and were half-way to the stairs, when a voice made them stop.

"Excuse me, sirs," the heavy-set innkeeper called to them. "A gentleman asked me to give this to you." He stepped forward holding out a letter. Eyeing the blood on Dinerion's neck and collar worriedly, the man asked, "Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Dinerion said somewhat weakly.

"Are you sure you don't what someone to have a look at 'im?" the innkeeper asked, addressing Dolenil.

Dolenil hesitated. As much as he hated the idea of a human healer looking over his brother, perhaps it was better then nothing...

Dinerion answered his question for him. "No. I'll be alright," he insisted.

"Very well…" The innkeeper glanced disapprovingly at Dinerion, but handed Dolenil the letter. "Here it is."

"Who was the gentleman that gave this to you?" Dolenil asked, turning the letter over suspiciously.

"Don't know what 'is name was. Medium height, blue eyes, blond 'air…"

"Thank you." Dolenil didn't waste anymore time, but quickly helped Dinerion up the stairs and into the room.

Lately, mysterious letters seemed to be popping up about as often as mysterious assailants and kidnappers. After helping Dinerion over to a chair, he opened the letter and scanned it quickly.

Dinerion's head jerked up when a few Sindarin curses left his brother's mouth. "What is it?"

"They have the ranger too."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Aragorn struggled to raise his head. Valar, he felt like he had the worst hangover…

Well, he was certainly alive. He'd awoken in this manner enough times to know that if you were in this much pain, you couldn't possibly be dead. Besides, no one bothered to tie up dead men, he thought ironically, twisting his hands in their bonds.

"Mellon-nin?" Legolas' voice at his side reminded him what being alive entailed.

Legolas. It took his clouded brain a minute to process the facts. When he _did _begin to remember things, he momentarily forgot about his physical state, jerking his head up to look at his friend—or at least he _attempted _to.

"Ouch."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. That was certainly the last thing he'd expected to hear. "From the look on your face, that would be a severe understatement?"

Aragorn grimaced, slowly opened one eye and nodded, then stopped when the movement sent his vision spinning out of control. "Well, I learned the art of understatement from an expert teacher," he said between clenched teeth.

Legolas chuckled lightly before turning more serious. "Is it really that bad, mellon-nin?"

"No. I feel as if my head's been used by a pack of trolls as a punching post, but other than that, I feel _fine_…" he said nonchalantly.

"I suppose you've learned the art of sarcasm from an expert teacher as well?" Legolas looked at his friend's pale face, and said more quietly, "You had me worried for a while, there, mellon-nín."

Aragorn nodded slowly, satisfied that his vision only wavered a little this time. "You had me worried for a very _long _while, there, mellon-nín." He examined his friend and asked almost accusingly, "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"If you mean 'am I hiding any fatal wounds', no," Legolas said wryly. "I imagine we're about equally matched as far as wounds go, for once." He looked at the long laceration around Aragorn's neck. "Identically, you might say."

This directed Aragorn's attention to Legolas' very sore-looking neck. He gave a small finch of sympathy. "It could be infected."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "And if it were, what would you do about it?"

"Point taken."

The "point" was rather depressing. They were bound and helpless, the captives of a psychopath who'd use them any way he could to kill Elladan and Elrohir. Aragorn sighed, remembering the reason they were here. "So, what's Acharndil's hair-brained scheme this time?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. All I know is that Acharndil hired some mercenary to capture us, and here we are. I only talked to Acharndil once, briefly, but he seemed to be under the impression that the twins are about to walk into his trap a second time."

"But they're in Rivendell…" Aragorn said, his voice wavering with uncertainly. "Surely even _they_ wouldn't be stupid enough run headlong into a trap a second time."

They exchanged doubtful glances, neither one very confident in Elladan and Elrohir's self-control in such matters—or lack thereof.

"Besides," Legolas said. "when I mentioned the fact that they were too far away to possibly get caught, he said 'they may not be as far away as you think'." He shook his head. "I don't think he was making an idle boast."

"Oh Eru, if Acharndil's managed to contact them…" Aragorn looked around the room as if he expected his brothers to come charging out of the shadows any minute. "Those two will be the death of all of us!"

"Maybe Lord Elrond will force them to stay," Legolas said with forced optimism.

"Yes, and maybe your father will decide to invite the Dwarves to stay at the Palace."

Legolas glared at Aragorn. "I could do without that sarcasm right now, mellon-nín, we have something even more urgent to discuss; although I'm afraid there's just as little we can do about this as anything else."

Noticing the sudden change in his friend, Aragorn did drop the sarcasm. "What is it?"

"Right after they brought you here, unconscious, Acharndil and Kadrin—"

"Kadrin?"

"The man who captured us," Legolas clarified and quickly continued. "They discussed, purposefully in front of me, their next plans to…" He lowered his head and finished wearily, "To kill either Dolenil or Dinerion."

"But why?"

"Acharndil probably figures that they're not the type who'd run off leaving their friends in trouble. Of course, that wouldn't keep them from sending _one _of them back to Mirkwood, and one of them staying here. I imagine they want to 'eliminate' all possible threats to the plan."

Aragorn rested his head against the wall and slowly let out his breath. "I'm sorry, Legolas…"

"It's not your fault, Estel." A wan smile lit up Legolas' tired face. "At least you gave Kadrin something to remember you by. He was thrilled at the struggled you put up."

"Well perhaps next time he comes in, we can ask him to release me. I'll guarantee him a struggle he'll remember for the rest of his considerably shortened life."

"And give him a cut on his neck to match the one on his arm?"

Aragorn grinned. "Of course."

After the brief burst of lightheartedness, a heavy silence fell. What was there to say when your two of your friends', and likely your brothers', lives were in danger?

"Mellon-nin, Dolenil and Dinerion—and Elladan and Elrohir—are all smart enough to outwit Acharndil and whatever he chooses to throw at them. They're experienced warriors…" There, Aragorn realized, his attempts to comfort Legolas fell flat.

"Experienced warriors?" Legolas interrupted. "Shouldn't you and I qualify as that? Shouldn't _we _have been able to outwit Acharndil, if being 'experienced' was what mattered?"

Aragorn wished he could have put a hand on his friend's shoulder, but he had to be content with meeting his eyes with a steady look. "They'll all have advantages we didn't have. Dolenil knows who Acharndil is, and he and Dinerion will watch their backs. Hopefully, one of them is already on his way to Mirkwood. Kadrin won't have the element of surprise anymore," He smiled. "and doubtless they'll stay out of dark alleys from now on."

"You may be right." Legolas sighed. "It just, seeing how much success he's had so far… Even if Dolenil and Dinerion do manage to escape, I'm afraid Elladan and Elrohir will come running in, leaving their brains at the door, and make a mess of the whole situation."

"Well, think about it: how much more of a 'mess' can this situation become?"

Legolas shook his head and said warningly, "Don't say that, Estel…"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Dinerion, lie down before you _fall_ down." Dolenil looked sternly at his wavering brother.

Hesitantly, Dinerion nodded, stumbling towards the bedroom. "You promise you'll wake me if you find anything more out about Legolas or Strider?"

"I promise."

A few minutes later, Dolenil silently entered the bedroom. Dinerion was fast asleep on top of the covers, fully clothed. He grabbed a blanket from off a chair and draped it over him. Pulling the chair closer the bed, he sat down.

Now that he had time to think things through, the burden of responsibility grew even heavier. His prince was captured, the sons of Elrond were in trouble, and now even the ranger was gone.

With this stalker loose, there was no way he was either leaving Dinerion in Laketown alone, or sending him back to Mirkwood. But then the question was, what were they supposed to do? Should both of them leave? His instincts rebelled against the idea of leaving the prince in such trouble, but now he had to wonder if there was any other option. Thranduil had to know…Or did he? What could more warriors do in a hostage situation that they couldn't? What would he do if Acharndil demanded something impossible in exchange for the Prince's life?

He massaged his temples wearily. It was up to him, alone, to make all these decisions, and he would have to make them quickly.

Gingerly, he touched the bandage he'd tied just minutes ago around Dinerion's neck. If only the ranger were here, he'd have someone to help make these impossible decisions, and he'd make sure that Dinerion was alright… Dolenil stopped suddenly. He actually _wanted _the human's help? The revelation was startling, and not entirely agreeable.

Then he realized it was even deeper than that: he wanted the support and leadership that came with Strider's presence. He was surprised to find that he actually missed the human's reassuring presence. And what was more, he wanted a chance to apologize. The more he thought about it, the more guilty he felt about his initial reaction to finding that he was missing. He'd misjudged him—terribly misjudged him.

He looked out the window at the sky, darkening with possible storm clouds. There was no time for him to ponder sudden revelations or remorse. But telling himself that didn't make the decisions of the night, or the decisions he'd have to make in the morning, any easier.

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****TBC…**

**See! There they are—a little worse for wear, but all of them still breathing. -huggles Dinerion- I was encouraged to hear that so many people like him enough to mourn his supposed passing –g- I apologize for letting you all think he was dead… -attempts to look contrite…fails- Ok, or NOT. -eg- **

**See you all next Saturday! **


	10. Dangerous Help

**A/N: A VERY special thanks to my dear Cami, who added in many villainous thoughts to this chapter at the last minute ;-) huggles editor And, as always, thanks to everyone who reviewed! **

**Enjoy!**

**See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responses will be sent via e-mail in the near future. (AH! –gasps- Now, look at me, I'm a fortune-teller! I think I must be a long-lost descendant of Elrond—I'm seeing visions of the future! What can I say? Hope springs eternal...)**

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****Chapter 10: Dangerous Help**

Elladan led his brother down the street, carefully directing his horse through the busy streams of people. Both of them were so anxious to see the faces of their friend and Estel, they narrowly missed collisions a number of times as they hurried towards the inn.

Even despite the fact that the residents of Laketown were more familiar with elves than most men, and consequentially more used to their presence, it had not been difficult to find out where the one elven prince and his companions were staying, in a town full of men.

They slid off their horses as they reached the door of the inn, hardly remembering to urge their horses in the direction of the stables. Elladan opened the door, immediately spotting and addressing the innkeeper.

"In what room are the Prince of Mirkwood and his friends staying?" His voice was blunt, and heavy with worry, but fortunately for them, the man saw the urgency on their faces and, perhaps more importantly, their determination. A quick scan of their pointed ears and obviously elven features appeared to confirm his decision.

He pointed across the busy common room. "Up those stairs and three doors to your right."

Elrohir followed his brother, casting apologetic glances at the other patrons as they practically tore through the room and up the stairs. With admirable self-control, Elladan paused at the third door long enough to knock.

"Who is it?" came a distrusting voice from inside.

"It's Elladan and Elrohir―let us in!"

Elrohir winced at the way his brother's voice filled the empty hallway. Thankfully, the door was opened quickly.

"Lord Elladan, Elrohir?" Dolenil took a step back as the two young elf lords burst in.

After scanning the room anxiously, and realizing Dolenil and Dinerion to be the rooms' only occupants, Elladan demanded anxiously, "Estel, Legolas…where are they?"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Acharndil paced along the wooden walk, following the side of the warehouse, shivering slightly in the cool air. Wrapped in many layers of clothing, he seemed nothing more than another businessman, hurrying to get home and out of the cold. Certainly, this was a rather unusually deserted part of town to be hurrying _through_… But the very fact that it was deserted meant fewer people to observe him in the first place.

Outwardly, his appearance might be nothing to arouse question. Inwardly, he seemed to have nothing _but_ questions at the moment. His mind was in a complete turmoil and, if he were honest, his emotions weren't helping at all. Despite all his attempts at rationalization, he was forced to admit it—he had been avoiding coming into any contact with the prisoners. Indeed, he had been avoiding even coming near them, sleeping in an inn some small distance away, and spending the better part of his days inventing reasons not to be near them.

Oh, he might tell himself that he was simply avoiding suspicions by spending his time in less disreputable parts of town, or that he was building up a reputation so that if anyone asked questions, he would have witnesses that he was simply here on business, or he might attempt to convince himself that he was watching for the arrival of the Peredhils, or any number of other weak excuses. He knew the truth. He knew that he was afraid that if he spent any more time around that young ranger, his nagging uncertainties might well grow, and cause him to truly question everything he had spent his life to accomplish.

He was furious with himself, seeing all the years he had spent hardening himself with anger, hatred, and thoughts of revenge, might be so easily undone by sentiment, and a boy's slight resemblance to his long-dead brother. Dead because of _those elves_! And yet… Yet he had seen those very elves he had considered heartless and cruel, the ones he was even now seeking revenge on. He had seen them willing to risk anything, give everything, for this young mortal, who was not even their true brother.

And the other elf he now held captive? He was not even related to them, much less deserving of his revenge! But he must use him, hurt him, perhaps even kill him, and why? Because of his soft, weak, inability to harden himself toward the ranger! No… not just "a ranger". Estel. Strider. He had a name, a future, hopes, just as his brother had once had. Was it right to take all that away from him, for something that happened before he was even born? And yet… the elves this very ranger called brother had taken all that from _his_ brother, from _his_ parents. He couldn't simply let it go! His whole life had been built around this need, how could he let it go now? He didn't even know what he would do with himself now, if he… No. _No._ He wouldn't even consider giving this up now, not when he was finally close to achieving it. He _couldn't._

Turning the last corner, he nodded to the man guarding the entrance, then entered the building he was holding his hostages in. He would not be weak. He would go through with this.

He paused just inside the doorway, taking the opportunity to observe how things were being handled in his absence. Several of the men he had hired were near the entrance, and they looked up briefly, nodding to him, before returning to their various amusements. Others, he knew, were elsewhere in the building, quiet for the moment, but ready for action at the first sign of trouble.

He scowled, tensing as he heard noise from further inside. A smack of flesh meeting flesh, followed almost simultaneously by two voices, one letting out a soft moan of pain, the other a shout of fury. He stalked forward, fury darkening his features. If he was not very much mistaken…

Ah yes. There was Dagron, doing, as usual, exactly as he had told him _not_ to. Strider was hunched over as far as his bonds permitted, his breathing labored as he struggled to regain his self-control as he recovered from what was clearly not the first blow Dagron had dealt him. Clearly he could not have been the source of the shout.

Acharndil turned his gaze toward the other prisoner, just as Dagron responded to said shout. Using the only language he seemed to have thoroughly mastered, he delivered a solid punch to Legolas' face, which slammed the elf's head backward into the post he was bound to. Judging from the dazed look in his eyes, before he allowed his head to sink forward, the blow must have stunned the elf for the moment.

Swiftly attempting to rein in the emotions which swirled up once again at witnessing the abuse, Acharndil refused to let his true feelings show, instead deciding anger was far less humiliating and weak.

"Dagron!" The word was no less forceful for the quiet, restrained anger Acharndil pronounced it with.

He to whom said proud appellation belonged responded with a guilty start before spinning around. Fixing an attempt at a smile on his face, and with an even less successful attempt at an innocently casual tone, Dagron replied, "Ah… cousin! I… hadn't expected you back yet!"

Acharndil snorted in disgust. "No? So you decided that now would be a good time to disobey my direct orders by harming the prisoners, is that it?" Wearily, he waved off Dagron's protestations. "Just get away from them. And _don't_ go near them again unless it is _truly_ necessary. Understood?"

Acharndil didn't bother to wait for Dagron's agreement, knowing that whatever he might say now, he was as likely as not to forget it within the next ten minutes. He walked over to the table and took a chair, only to rise to his feet again almost immediately as, face menacingly dark and clear blue eyes blazing, Kadrin descended on the quiet room like a storm cloud.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Aragorn, finally beginning to recover both his breath and his composure, looked up as a dark figure emerged out of the shadows. His first glimpse of the assassin was certainly an interesting one. Saturated with blood, the left side of his shirt clung to his skin where a dagger protruded from his shoulder. However, the man could have had three daggers sticking out of him and still, his face would have been the first thing to have caught his attention. He shuddered at the anger portrayed there, but couldn't bring himself to look away.

Acharndil, who had once again "graced" them with his presence, hurried forward to greet the assassin, grasping his arm.

Not one to be left out of any excitement, much less any trouble, Dagron moved forward and grabbed the assassin's other arm―right above the dagger. Aragorn, despite the fact that he suspected this man to be his kidnapper, couldn't help but flinch in sympathy at the yelp of pain that followed.

"_Idiot_!" Kadrin snarled, and quite literally slapped Dagron's hand away.

A smile crept across Aragorn's bruised face. Now _that _was something he could wholeheartedly agree with.

Beside him, a groggy voice caught his attention. "Estel?" Legolas, struggled to lift his stiff, sore neck and refocus his bleary vision. "You alright?"

"Of course, mellon-nin." He replied quietly. "You?" He didn't believe Legolas' answering careful nod any more than he suspected Legolas believed his own reassurances, but as there was little either of the could do about it at the moment, he was forced to let it pass.

Aragorn nodded towards Acharndil, who was forcing Kadrin to take a seat and let him see to his wound. "Is that Kadrin, the man who kidnapped us?"

Instantly more alert at the sight of Kadrin, Legolas' answered bitterly, "Yes, that would be the man responsible for our predicament."

"If he's a mercenary, mellon-nín, then technically, if not theoretically, that would not be true," Aragorn pointed out. "Acharndil's the one responsible for our 'predicament'; Kadrin's just doing his job."

"Killing and kidnapping is a fine profession," Legolas said sarcastically. "what I mind is the _way_ he does it. Can't you see he enjoys it?"

Aragorn let a pointed moment of silence lapse as he pretended to think about his answer. Kadrin's muttered curses echoed around the room as Acharndil ripped his shirt open. "No, I can't see that I do." He offered Legolas a lopsided grin.

Legolas rolled his eyes, wincing slightly at the pain it caused his aching head, before turning to watch the drama in front of them.

Acharndil finished ripping the shirt away from the wound. "Dagron, bring the lantern closer and go get some bandages," he commanded distractedly as he examined the wound. As Dagron got up to leave, he added, "And find him another shirt while you're at it." After Dagron had slunk off, he questioned Kadrin tentatively. "What happened?"

"I caught the brown-haired elf alone, and had him dangling in my noose, and then that other damned elf came along―" he paused to grit his teeth while Acharndil pulled the dagger out of his arm. "―and threw his dagger at me." He cursed again. "I can't be sure whether the first elf was dead or not."

Acharndil wisely said nothing. Apparently, he wasn't going to need to berate Kadrin for his failure. The assassin was doing a wonderful job of that himself.

"I can't believe I let that elf get the best of me…" Kadrin cursed himself unmercifully.

"Anyone could have made the same mistake. Elves are an incredible race, and full of surprises," Acharndil tried to soothe the man's pride. "and nothing can be done about it now, so we may as well move on."

Kadrin nodded, still raging inwardly―and by no means free of his foul mood―but instantly responding to the command and calmness in Acharndil's voice.

All might have been well, but Dagron had returned, bringing with him his charming aura of tranquility.

Acharndil, seeing the dark look on Kadrin's face the moment Dagron reentered, realized that the storm could break any moment. Giving his obtuse cousin a few hints, obvious enough to have been seen by an orc, Acharndil did everything but yell at him to leave as he took the shirt and bandages from him.

He grit his teeth. "Thank you, Dagron," he finally said to his still-oblivious cousin.

Acharndil proceeded to tend to Kadrin's wound, interspersing his work by glaring at Dagron. The man just stood there, either ignoring his cousin's warnings, or truly not noticing.

Looking ready to use his noose, regardless of who this man might be related to, Kadrin's eyes darted up threateningly at Dagron as he continued to stare brazenly.

This was getting too dangerous. "Dagron, don't you have anything better to do?" Acharndil asked harshly.

Dagron shrugged indifferently. "No."

Acharndil closed his eyes in frustration, but quickly finished tying of the bandage. The sooner Kadrin could leave, the greater chance they'd all have of living to see another day. He handed the shirt to Kadrin.

Kadrin looked at the shirt, and then growled at Dagron. "Idiot!" The epithet seemed to have become permanent. "How can one man be so incompetent!"

Dagron and Acharndil started at him in bewilderment, for once equally surprised, and caught off-guard. Across the room, Aragorn and Legolas also exchanged confused glances.

"Can't you even get the right _color_?" Kadrin examined the shirt with disgust. "Black. Do you honestly expect me to wear _black _and _blue _together?"

Acharndil wanted to scream. For a while it had seemed like his plans were going perfectly, now, everthing―from his final kidnapping plans, to the color of his assassin's shirt―was wrong. But diplomacy, or perhaps his self-preservation instincts, forced him to keep these thoughts to himself.

"Forgive my cousin, Kadrin, if you will only wear it for the present I will have him get you a different shirt later." To his credit, his voice only sounded a trifle forced.

Kadrin continued to scowl darkly at both the shirt and Dagron, but he grudgingly put it on. "For now." He retreated to a corner, effortlessly blending in with the shadows, doubtless bent on hiding his shameful lack of color-coordination.

Fast reflexes and a lot of effort were the only things that saved Aragorn and Legolas from bursting into laughter. The whole situation was ridiculous to say the least.

Aragorn smiled. He had to wonder if Kadrin was this fussy about all his clothes.

Legolas whispered quietly in Sindarin, "A murderer with a sense of fashion…Now I've seen it all."

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TBC...**

Alright, and now comes the part where I thank everyone for their reviews and assure you that the next part will be out on Saturday, as usual… Only I'm not going to do that this time!

**No, I AM going to thank you all very much for the reviews – they mean so much to me! -huggles reviewers- However, I'm afraid I'm not going to be updating this Saturday. -looks mournful- I know it's really hard for you all, but I'm afraid that, in celebration of Thanksgiving, I'll be updating several days early—on Thursday, to be precise. -sighs sadly- I know, I know, I'm awful. –g- **

**So, as several people have been asking, you'll be getting an early update! Unfortunately, that means I'll probably not be able to get the reviewer responses done this week… but this week is so busy, I probably wouldn't have been able to do that anyways :-P **

**So, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, hope to see you all again next THURSDAY, and, as always, reviews are very much appreciated! **


	11. Afraid of Nothing

**Well, here's chapter eleven, as promised ;-) Got to go get some of that turkey... -drools-**

**See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responses... Oh, that's right, I'm not doing them this time (but I can't wait to try out the new feature they have on here!)

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****Chapter 11: Afraid of Nothing**

"They're _both _missing!" Elladan practically yelled.

Dolenil flinched. Dinerion certainly hadn't chosen the best way to break the news. Coming right out and saying, "your brother and your best friend have mysteriously disappeared, and now are being used as hostages" was not the gentlest way they could have told the Sons of Elrond. Still, at least it was out now.

"But why didn't you send word?" Elladan demanded rather harshly.

"Forgive me, hir-nin, but―" Dolenil started.

"El, it's only been a couple of hours since Dinerion nearly died!" Elrohir interjected quickly. "Calm down. They've been doing their best in very difficult circumstances."

Elladan stopped immediately, the edge of his anger being replaced by a measure of guilt. "Forgive me, Dolenil… Elrohir's right. I know you've been doing everything in your power." He paced back and forth across the small room. "I am sorry for the unwarranted outburst, but what I feared so much has finally happened."

"What you feared, my lord?" Dolenil asked, puzzled.

Elrohir nodded sadly. "We received a letter from Acharndil―that is why we came so quickly. We'd hoped to reach Mirkwood and warn Estel."

"So what do we do now?" Dinerion spoke up in a small voice, still conscious of the outburst his last comment had provoked.

Elladan glanced out the window at the darkening sky and clenched his jaw. "It's nearly night, but I cannot even think of sleep now." They all nodded in agreement. Encouraged by the support, Elladan narrowed his eyes in thought. "Very well then. I think it is time we figured out the identity of this talented, and highly elusive, visitor we've been having."

Dolenil frowned. "How, my lord?"

A sly smile flitted across Elladan's face. "We go straight to the very best information source."

"And who would that be?" Elrohir eyed his brother furtively.

Elladan clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Not _who_, but _where_, muindor. Surely your remember all Estel taught us about taverns?"

Elrohir chuckled. "Ah, yes, why didn't I think of it?"

Unable to resist, Elladan said swaggeringly, "I always said I was the brains of the family." Moving on before his brother could react, he put his hand on the doorknob. "Come on, we've got an assassin to track, and precious little time to do it in."

"We are going to spend the evening…downstairs?" Dolenil hedged nervously.

Elladan's eyes glittered with amusement. "Downstairs? No, the common room here is much too tame and sophisticated for us to find the kind of scum we're looking for."

Dolenil tried not to show his alarm. "Tame and sophisticated?"

Elladan had to work hard not to smile at the elf's obvious phobia of taverns. "Oh yes, we're going to have to go right down to the real muck of this town if we want to get anywhere in our search."

Shuddering, Dolenil followed the other elves out of the room.

Elrohir pulled his cloak around him and shifted his hood further forward. Where they were going, it was better that their race remain unknown. Their keen hearing and their ability to be inconspicuous would be their greatest assets tonight.

Lost in his own thoughts and wonderings about what the night's conclusion would be, he kept his eyes on Elladan's back, following him instinctively. Dolenil, grim-faced, walked beside them with Dinerion. All of them wore their hoods far forward, casting shadows across their faces in the dim lantern-light.

"Well, here we are." Elladan said quietly, stopping so suddenly that Elrohir nearly ran into him.

They looked up at the crude sign swinging over the door of an even cruder building.

"'TheHairyDwarf'?" Dolenil read slowly, a rare smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't judge a book by it's cover," Elladan said, giving Dolenil an admonitory look. He grinned mischievously. "It's bound to be different inside."

He was right. It was far worse inside. The open door revealed a room, overcrowded and squalid. Smoke and other, even fouler smells immediately greeted them. Somewhere in the wreaths of smoke, some intoxicated client was singing a song jarringly off tune. Even Elladan had to resist the urge to cover his ears and run back out into the night.

It took a great deal of effort to go beyond their first hesitant step into the doorway, but Elladan quickly recovered, taking a firm step forward. Elrohir and Dinerion followed on Elladan's heels. Dolenil, only through practiced self-control and sheer determination, convinced himself to follow in the rear.

It was easy enough for four, darkly-cloaked figures to slip through the crowded room unnoticed. They sat down at a table with the best vantage of the rest of the tables they could find, while still remaining out of the way, and tried to look inconspicuous. Unfortunately, there was no hope that they'd escape the notice of the innkeeper's all-seeing gaze.

He waded through the mass of people up to their table and cleared his throat nosily before asking in his gruff voice, "And what can I get for you tonight, gentlemen?"

Elladan searched his brain frantically for an answer. Memories of Aragorn's cool manner of dealing in taverns resurfaced just in time to rescue him. "We'll all have the house brew," he replied nonchalantly. To his relief, the innkeeper nodded and left.

Elrohir, glad for the protection his hood afforded him, couldn't help but smile at the way Elladan was imitating Estel. After the innkeeper had returned and left once more, Elladan handling the situation like an expert, he couldn't help but remark, "Strider would have been proud of you, El." Under the dark recess of his hood, he was sure Elladan was rolling his eyes.

After the short attempt at humor, silence fell over the small company of elves. Their nerves calmed somewhat as they acclimated to the stuffy room, and they began to focus their keen hearing, singling out different conversations.

A half-hour passed.

An hour.

Each minute that ticked by seemed to compound the fruitlessness of their mission. A man, one table over, was making their job difficult, prattling on in a voice made high, no doubt, by too much liquor. Thankfully, the discordant singing had stopped, but the over-all din of the room was still confusing.

Elladan banged his fist down on the table. The noise went unnoticed, swallowed up in the cacophony around them. "This is hopeless!" he growled. "We don't even know exactly what we're listening for!" His eyes, which had been resting on his brother across the table, suddenly looked past him. A look of disbelief crossed his face. "No. It _can't _be…"

The three other elves at the table turned their heads slowly, trying not to attract attention. Elrohir was the first to see what―or rather _whom_―Elladan had noticed. The first word out of his mouth was uttered with identical surprise. "Dagron?" Perhaps they should have expected that where Acharndil was, Dagron was likely to be near, but still… The last they'd heard, he was still safely confined in the Strayton prison. To find him here, now, was an unpleasant surprise, to say the least.

Dinerion, who'd finally been told most of the story concerning Acharndil and his cousin, watched the coarse man with growing uneasiness.

A low exclamation of anger escaped Dolenil. "That monster, we should never have allowed…"

Elrohir cut him off, whispering fiercely, "Quiet! We must not alert him to our presence."

"Not alert him to our presence?" Elladan looked ready to spring. "Oh, I intend to do a lot more than _that_…" he said darkly.

"El," Elrohir put a restraining arm on his brother's shoulder. "don't be an idiot. Right now we need to follow him, not mutilate him. He's the best lead we've had all night! Don't ruin this chance to find Estel and Legolas. It may be our only one."

Elladan was still tense, and his eyes were glued menacingly on Dagron, but he nodded.

"If we ever survive this, Ada is going to ground me for the next decade."

Aragorn, who'd been dozing lightly, turned his head slightly to his right to look at Legolas. He gave his friend a strange look. "Where did _that _come from?"

"I'm not entirely sure…" Legolas smiled. "I was just thinking of the kind of reception we'll get when we return." He repeated resignedly, "Ada _is _going to ground me for the next decade…"

Shaking his head, Aragorn chuckled. "You always come up with the most cheerful subjects to discuss when we're being held captive, mellon-nín."

Legolas chuckled, and then silence fell for a moment.

"You really think Thranduil will ground you?"

It was Legolas' turn to look at Aragorn. "Definitely."

"Well, I'll be sure to come visit you."

"And _where _do you think _you're _going to be? Free to roam?"

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully. "You have a point there. Elladan probably won't let me out for a couple of years at least."

"At least," Legolas agreed.

"I don't see why they're always punishing us for getting into trouble; it's not like we _choose _to be in a perpetual state of captivity." The ranger sighed heavily, resting his head back against the pillar with a dull "thump" as he tried to east the stiffness brought on by being tied so long in one position. As he shifted his hands restlessly in the tight roped that held them, he suddenly felt something cold and sharp dig into them, and let out a muted yelp of surprise, quickly silenced to avoid attracting attention.

"What?" Legolas asked, straining to see the cause of his friends alarm.

Aragorn rubbed his pricked hand as well as he could with the other, looking sheepish and annoyed at the same time. "Nothing…Just a nail."

Their eyes met for a moment as they silently came to the same realization.

Legolas repeated the words meaningfully, "Just a nail?"

A knowing smile spread slowly across Aragorn's face.

It took much self-control on Elladan's part – as well as a considerable amount of restraint from Elrohir - to keep himself seated while Dagron dawdled away his time, minute after minute.

They all watched him drain his third mug, willing it to be his last. It was all they could do to keep from rushing after him when he rose, brusquely slapping down the money he owed the innkeeper before stumbling towards the door.

"Slowly…" Elladan said under his breath, as if to warn himself.

They wound their way through the crowd, trying to remain as inconspicuous in their exit as when they had entered. Elrohir paid the innkeeper on their way, without sparing the man so much as a glance, his eyes fixed on Dagron's retreating figure as he cleared the doorway. Elladan reached the door first, and peered out into the street just in time to see Dagron turn a corner to their left and disappear. He motioned to his companions and they slipped out into the night. They hurried down the street, their soft elven boots rendering them completely silent. Reaching it, they were once again just able to see which way Dagron turned.

As he continued to lead them through more alleys, and across more streets, Elrohir was careful to count the number of turns and keep a general bearing on where they were. His knowledge of the town might be limited, but it wouldn't hurt to try. No matter how all-important rescuing Estel and Legolas was, knowing where they were once they'd accomplished that just might be useful. Elladan seemed far from thinking about practical matters at the moment, so that left him to keep track.

Thankfully, he noticed that Dagron wasn't making his trail nearly as complicated to follow as he could have. Apparently three mugs of ale did nothing to accentuate the man's intellect or resourcefulness. If he didn't _exactly _make a bee-line for wherever he was going, he certainly didn't make more than half-a-dozen unnecessary twists. As far as he knew, those turns might just as much have been from a slight drunken confusion, as from any real cleverness.

Elrohir only hoped that Dagron wasn't lost, or leading them to some dank hole of his own. He feared that if they didn't find Acharndil's hideout soon, choices would be put before them they couldn't possibly make.

* * *

TBC...

NOW I will go get some turkey! -scampers off to the kitchen-


	12. Show No Mercy

**A/N: Ok, it would seem it's back to "Apology Notes" for me. I'm terribly sorry that, in the last chapter, the breaks in-between the sections of the story got taken out. The "site" (I shall not utter it's name here…) decided that—as a Thanksgiving present—it would delete them from my story. Sorry about that, I know it was a bit confusing… It also deleted most of my author's note –growls- Which is the reason they were rather short and nonsensical. I DID have nice, good ones typed up, honestly... To read those things, you'd think I had turkey on the brain (which I DID, but that's beside the point –g-). **

**Well, I certainly hope everything's alright this time… **

**_A HUGE—and I mean HUGE—thanks to Imbecamiel for all the work, and last-minute additions she did to this chapter. –huggles- You're truly a life-saver, muinthel-nín._**

**See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responses are SENT! (let me know if you didn't get one…I believe I got everyone ;-)**

**Chapter 12: Dead Give Away **

Dagron stumbled on, half in a stupor, and the twins, Dolenil, and Dinerion patiently continued to follow him around every corner. The sky was darkening, and so was the area around them, but their keen elven eyes had little difficulty piercing the gloom.

Elladan had just raised his hand to halt them, when a sound from behind caught his attention. He spun around to find the cause, half afraid that they, the pursuers, had become the pursued. There was no one behind them. He could faintly make out the features of his companions. Dinerion was just straightening up, cringing sheepishly, his mouth forming the word "sorry." Elladan worked hard to quell his frustration. Of all the times to trip, why did he have to do it _now_?

He glanced around the corner. Sure enough, Dagron had paused, head erect, listening. Elladan turned around, back pressed against the cool stone of the wall. "Eru…" The barely whispered words of frustration died on his lips as his eyes took in a small, furry figure crouched atop a crate beside him. Carefully scooping the cat up, he shooed it out from their hideout in the direction of Dagron. It skittered out across the street directly in front of Dagron, nearly touching the tips of his boots. Startled, Dagron jumped back out of the way. The elves waited for a tense moment before, cursing, he staggered on.

They all exchanged shaky smiles.

After that, Dinerion took a position in the center of the group, his older brother's watchful eyes at his back, and his steadying hand within reach.

But they didn't have to go much further. Not too far ahead, Dagron stopped again, turning to go to the back of one of the warehouses. Elladan motioned to the others to stay, and followed Dagron to the corner, quickly ducking back to avoid attracting the attention of the man who was standing guard at the door. He hurried back them.

"He's gone in through a door in the back." He smiled grimly. "This must be where Acharndil's keeping them… I hope."

"Yes, but now that we've _possibly _found them, how are we going to get in and find out for certain?" Dolenil asked the question they were all thinking. "And, if they _are _here how do we get them out? We have no idea how many men there may be in there."

He only asked the questions out of a true desire to understand what his leader's plans were. Already, his mind was sorting through the possible strategies they could use in the situation. Unfortunately, his questions came out sounding rather bleak, adding another layer of discouragement to the situation.

"One thing at a time. We _could _start by looking at first things first," Elladan said edgily. Those questions were all too pertinent, and he felt he was running low on brilliant ideas.

"Before you two come to blows, you might want to have a look at this," Elrohir stood, one hand on the rung of a ladder that clung to the side of the building. He grinned at them. "Looks like it goes all the way to the roof and, possibly, to another entrance?"

The four of them ascended the rickety ladder cautiously, one at a time. Just as they'd hoped, there was a small trapdoor in the middle of the flat roof. Elladan tested the handle, and their ears were met with the rattle of a lock.

"Valar, don't we have just the luck tonight… So close and yet so far." Elladan glared at the locked door as if were personally responsible for all their trouble. Estel was probably just a heart-beat away and here they were: hindered by a simple lock. He felt his anger would have lent him enough strength to rip the trap-door off its hinges. Unfortunately, he somehow doubted they'd be able to count on stealth after that. "_Now _what?" he asked, not seriously expecting a reply.

"We might try marching right through their main entrance," Elrohir supplied helpfully. "Or, you might try this?" He held up a small piece of stiff wire.

A smile relieved some of the fierceness from Elladan's features. "So you remembered then, muindor?"

Elrohir handed him the wire, matching his smile with one of his own. "Well someone has to be responsible."

While Elladan began to test the wire in the lock, Elrohir noticed the surprised expressions on Dolenil and Dinerion's faces.

Dolenil watched Elladan, crouched intently over the trap-door. "Do you _always _carry pick-locks with you, my lord?"

Elrohir's smile widened. "You can never be too prepared, and we've often been in…situations where being able to pick a lock can be extremely useful." In truth, he and Elladan almost _always _got into situations where being able to pick a lock was _extremely _"useful". It had become a joke between them: see who remembered to bring the wire this time.

With one last expert twist of the wire, the lock clicked open. Elladan loosed the chains that had held the trap-door shut, and looked up at his friends. He eyed the rusty hinges. "You wouldn't happen to have some oil along, would you El?"

Elrohir shook his head. "Regretfully, no…"

"Right. Well, this rusty old door is bound to make some noise―we'll have to be careful." Elladan grasped the handle and slowly began to pull upwards. They all winced as it shrieked its protest a few times before finally opening. To their sensitive ears, the sound seemed incredibly loud. "Let us hope we haven't just announced our arrival," Elladan muttered. He took a step towards the door, anxious to see the inside of the warehouse. A hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"My lord, it might be best if only one of us went in at first, to scout things out. Perhaps you would allow me?" Dolenil asked tentatively, unused to going against authority even in small matters.

Elrohir shot a nervous glance at Elladan. He knew his brother was worried, and his temper was always unpredictable at times like this. For all their sakes, he hoped that Elladan would accept Dolenil's advice.

Elladan only hesitated for moment, seeing the apprehension in their eyes and, regretfully, realizing that he wasn't the best choice for the mission. He nodded. "Yes, go quickly and see if my brother and Legolas are there."

Dolenil caught himself in time to keep from sighing in relief. "I will be fast, and careful, my lord." He descended quickly down the ladder inside before Elladan had a chance to change his mind.

Instantly, he was surrounded by the suffocating darkness. As soon as he felt the something solid under his feet, he reached forward until his hands met with a rail and then paused, waiting for his vision to more-or-less adjust. It didn't take very long, with the faint glow coming from up ahead. He moved forward, feeling along the rail. It was as he'd guessed: a catwalk stretched from one end of the building to the other. To his left, the building supports rose in thick columns.

He moved forward towards the light. Faint voices echoed eerily around him. As he stepped past a pillar, he finally found what he was looking for. The scene before him was…actually not all that surprising.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Acharndil sat at the table, staring vacantly at the large, three-legged metal container that some of the men had brought in to light a fire in, hoping to stave off some of the early-winter chill. The blazing fire did help considerably, but at the moment, Acharndil neither noticed, nor particularly cared. The stray thought flitted across his mind that he hoped he looked as lost in thought as he felt. The idea of literally taking someone's head off just for talking to him seemed slightly… extreme, even for a supposedly revenge-obsessed leader of hired mercenaries.

At the moment, however "extreme" it might be, he believed his mind and emotions were the perfect state for him to react in just such a regrettable manner. _If nothing else, it would be quite unfortunate to set such a bad example for Dagron, after having chided him so often for his own failings in that area… _The faintest of smiles touched his lips, before his brief moment of amusement was swept away by the abrupt return of the same thoughts and doubts which had brought him to this state in the first place.

Why, why, _why_? Why did these thoughts have to come back now, with even greater force than ever, just minutes after he had thought he finally had them under control? Why did Dagron have to disobey his orders, and bring these feelings rushing back, just as he thought he had them safely locked away? For he could not deny that the sight of the ranger, being hurt once more, had made him painfully aware of how little success he had really had in banishing all feelings of sympathy or regret towards his prisoners.

He felt a sudden wave of anger towards both his cousin, and that problematic ranger—more that a little irrational, when he knew very well that he was far more angry with himself. Why could _nothing_ ever go right!

He scowled. Clearly, attempting to control his mind was having little success. It appeared the best he could hope for would be to distract himself, for a time, and hope that the next time such thoughts recurred he would be better equipped to handle them. Even at that moment, he recognized the utter futility of such wishes, but nevertheless, he leaned back in his chair, staring into the darkness at the top of the building as intently as if the power of his gaze could call forth some convenient distraction, just to give his tired mind a break.

Acharndil stiffened, suddenly. There, in the midst of the blackness of the ceiling, a small patch of light appeared suddenly. It wasn't much, a small hint of starlight so insignificant he would certainly not have noticed it if he hadn't happened to be gazing so closely at that particular spot at that particular moment. Indeed, for a second he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but even now when he looked at it steadily, it glinted back, just as steadily, a slightly brighter patch of darkness in the overwhelming black above him.

_What on earth…?_ A smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth as an explanation occurred to him. Were it anyone else he was considering, it might have been a very unlikely one, but as it was… It appeared the Peredhil twins might have come for their brother even more quickly than he had expected. Even if it were not his prey, but some other intruder that had discovered his lair, this was something that needed to be dealt with immediately.

Turning slowly, so as not to attract undue attention, he looked towards the corner where Kadrin still sat, nursing his wounded shoulder—as well as his even more damaged pride. Catching the assassin's eye, he called him over with a slight wave of his hand. Thankfully, the man seemed to sense the urgency of his request, and came without protest, if not with an entirely agreeable manner. However, when Kadrin had heard his employer's quickly whispered instructions, Acharndil was relieved to see all traces of sullenness disappear beneath the sparkle of anticipation that lit up the killer's eyes. With a quick nod of understanding, Kadrin slipped away, as unnoticed as one of the many shadows that filled the warehouse.

Maintaining his casual attitude, Acharndil called out softly to his cousin, who was sulking some distance away. "Dagron, come over here for a moment, will you?"

Muttering and scowling none-too-subtly, Dagron complied.

Pretending not to notice, Acharndil forced a smile onto his face, as he continued to address the man. "Cousin, I really must apologize to you." Seeing he had captured Dagron's interest, he continued. "I fear that earlier I spoke to you far too harshly. You must forgive me, Dagron. I wasn't feeling well just then, and I fear I took it out on you. You have really been an incredible help to me, and I am truly grateful to you." Forcing himself to utter all these lies in a pleasant tone was taking its toll on him, and he saw that he was beginning to lose some of his cousin's interest, so he cut to the point. "And to demonstrate that gratitude to you—and prove that I really am sorry for my words—I've come to a decision." He forcibly shoved aside the stab of guilt and remorse that struck at him, resolutely carrying on with his plan. "Until I say otherwise, you may do what you like with the elf and the ranger, so long as you don't do anything permanent to them just yet."

It was truly a struggle not to show the disgust he felt at the hungry, malicious, _sadistic_ look of pleasure that lit up Dagron's face at that pronouncement. Kadrin, he could actually respect, even despite all that he had done and become. But Dagron… Dagron was a different matter entirely.

Steeling himself, he turned to watch as his cousin hurried over towards the prisoners. If he was going to allow this, not turning away from the sight of what he was putting two innocents through was the very least he could do.

The sad, terrible irony of the situation was far from being lost on him. _So, here we are again, Ranger. Once more, I am forced to use you—and now your friend as well. Both to draw out your brothers, and to prove to myself that I am not so weak-willed as my treacherous emotions would make me. _He sighed slightly. _And in so doing, all I manage to prove is how much of a coward I really am. _

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Elrohir laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I don't think pacing back and forth is going to bring Dolenil back any faster."

Elladan ran a hand over his face and retorted wearily, "It might. You never know."

Dinerion stood stiffly nearby, doubtless worried that if he so much as moved he'd bring the whole roof down. Only his eyes moved, searching the dark hole in front of him for the return of his brother.

Their worried vigil was soon rewarded, as Dolenil emerged from the trap-door.

"I take it by the look on your face that you have bad news?" Elrohir asked, feeling he all ready knew the answer.

"Well, my Lord, it would seem that nearly any news I could give today _would _be bad, or at least mixed. No, the Lord Estel and Prince Legolas did not miraculously escape. They are as of yet still prisoners. But yes, we _have _found them."

Elrohir and Dinerion sighed in relief―Elladan was all ready putting his foot on the first rung of the ladder.

"El wait!" Elrohir called him back somewhat frantically, trying desperately to keep his voice to a whisper. If Elladan decided he was going to rescue his little brother, then he would most assuredly do just that. Or attempt it and get them _all _killed trying, which was more likely. Fortunately, Elladan hadn't reached the point where he wouldn't listen to reason―yet.

"What?" He asked impatiently.

"Don't you think we need a _plan_?" Elrohir shot back somewhat tersely. In general, he found his brother's reckless and impulsively protective nature towards his loved ones endearing. Now was not one of those times. With Dolenil refusing leadership, he was beginning to feel the load of being the only rational leader.

Elladan scowled and was about to suggest a plan―namely one that didn't involve waiting―when he noticed the overwhelmed expression on his brother's face.

_Eru, I'm doing it again, aren't I?_

He flinched at his own thoughtlessness.

It wasn't the first time he'd ignored logic and careful planning in favor of taking instant action. It wasn't the first time he'd come close to dragging Elrohir into danger, either.

When he opened his mouth at last, it was to say carefully, "Of course, muindor, you're right."

Elrohir easily read his brother's face, watching emotion after emotion flicker through his eyes. To his relief, he seemed to settle, more or less, on a rational note.

Seeing the small war of emotions was over, Dolenil finally added his voice. "Do you have any plans, Lord Elrohir?"

Elrohir tried not to show his discomfiture. "Well, not _exactly_…" He thought for a moment. "Only, I don't think it best that we all go in at once. Acharndil has proven his ingenuity before, and I'd feel much better if I knew there was back-up for whatever plan we decide upon."

Dolenil nodded. "My lord, when we spoke with him shortly after Prince Legolas' disappearance, the head of the Wine Merchants' Guild, Eathol, offered the assistance of himself and a number of men should we need it. Perhaps it is time to redeem that promise? It was too dark down there for me to see clearly, and therefore I can only estimate, but there could easily be a couple dozen men down there. We may need more help. As you said, Acharndil was well prepared last time, we can't afford to underestimate him. Two of us could go in now, and the other two go back and ask Eathol to send reinforcements." He looked at the ground, feeing inexplicably awkward voicing him own ideas so boldly. He was suddenly painfully aware of how long he'd been talking. "It's not the best plan," he added almost apologetically. "and the man may refuse us, or we could get lost trying to find our way back, but―"

Trying to cover a smile, Elrohir interrupted. "I think it's a brilliant idea, Dolenil. You think this merchant will really give us his aid?"

Relieved, Dolenil relaxed slightly. "I can not be certain, my lord, but he certainly seemed to be sincere in his offer at the time. Of course, it is always possible that he may have thought better of it since then… But I really think it's our best chance."

Quelling his feelings, Elladan tried not to sound too impatient. "Yes, but who is to go, and who is to stay?"

It was Dolenil's turn to try and hide a smile. It was quite obvious that if Elladan wasn't allowed down the trap-door soon, they'd all be treated to the sight of a hyperventilating elf lord. He decided it was an experience he'd save for another time.

Rousing all his diplomatic skills, Dolenil began, "As far as stealth goes…" His voice trailed off as he looked pointedly at Dinerion, who looked down at his feet with a slight flush. He put a hand on his brother's shoulder in an attempt to alleviate some of the embarrassment of the insinuation, before continuing. "If neither of you object, I think we will go."

The twins smiled their gratitude, knowing just how much Dolenil was giving up. They knew how much he disliked interacting with humans―much less asking them for help. He would be surrendering his pride, as well as the chance to personally attempt his prince's rescue.

Returning their smiles with a slightly apprehensive one of his own, Dolenil nodded decisively. "Right then. The sooner we get started, the faster we can return." He started to turn, then hesitated. "My lords, please, just… Be careful."

Elladan's reckless grin was something less than reassuring. "Of course. When have we ever not been?"

Dolenil refrained from answering that particular question. He only hoped he hadn't just made a terribly stupid decision.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Elladan and Elrohir felt their way across the rickety catwalk, keeping their eyes on the light emanating from towards the far end of the building as they moved from pillar to pillar.

"Careful," Elladan hissed. "some of the boards are loose."

"Or completely gone," Elrohir added under his breath, grabbing onto one of the railings to catch his balance again, after narrowly missing a hole where one of the boards had rotted through.

The light beneath them grew and, as they rounded a pillar, they looked down between the crates, which were arranged into tall stacks throughout the warehouse.

"Estel…" Elladan breathed, partially with relief, and partially with renewed worry.

Elrohir nodded. "Yes, and Legolas. Dolenil was right: we've found them at last."

Elrohir was pleasantly surprised to find that his brother had indeed gained control of his impulses. True, Elladan's hand was gripping the rail as he if could somehow wring Dagron's neck from this distance, just by squeezing the unoffending piece of wood, but he really couldn't be blamed. After all, at the moment he was feeling rather inclined towards violent actions himself, as he watched Dagron slink towards the prisoners.

"I wonder how long it will take them to get there and back," Elladan whispered, his choke-hold on the railing increasing. "It had better be quick. If that monster…"

Elrohir laid a hand on his brother's clenched fist encouragingly. "I know, El."

They could both feel a nauseatingly familiar sense of anger and fear creep over them as Dagron stooped in front of Legolas.

**TBC… **

**Well there 'tis. I think I might start posting on Fridays… Lately, I never can foretell what Saturday may bring (either it's extremely busy, or extremely slow). In any case, next chapter won't be up any _later _thanSaturday ;-)**

**Since I'm trying out the new reply system on here, I'd appreciate it if those who have accounts would sign when reviewing—it makes things a lot easier. Not to worry though, if you don't have an account, or aren't signed in, I'll still send a response if you leave your address :-)**

**Review if you have the time—I'd love to hear what you thought of the chapter! -blinks- Wait a minute, I suppose you're all going to tell me THIS is a cliffy? Hmm... -smiles innocently- Would you believe me if I said...I'd forgotten about it? No, I thought not.**


	13. Dead Give Away

**A/N: Anyone who hasn't seen the new "Chronicles of Narnia" movie HAS to see it. NOW. –g- I just saw it and…wow…it's incredible. –clears throat- Anyways, now that I've got that out of my system… Hope you enjoy the chapter. Some angst and owies ahead, and some action too. **

**See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responses are sent - please let me know if you didn't get yours!**

_Thank you muinthel-nin, for all the hard work you put into this chapter! –huggles Imbecamiel-_

**Chapter 13: Unpleasantly Surprised **

"Well, _elf_."

Legolas involuntarily shuddered at the sound of the familiar, coarse voice.

"It's been a long time," Dagron sneered. "I've been looking forward to this moment."

"Really? We've met before?" Legolas tilted his head, examining Dagron as if for the first time. After letting his eyes linger on the stump where Dagron's hand had once been, he grimaced in condescending distaste. "Oh yes, _you_." He smiled in the most irritating manner he could manage. "Talk a bit more slowly for me, I always did have a hard time understanding yrch."

Dagron's sneer froze one his face. He was growing increasingly tired of being compared to things he'd never heard of. But he was sure any comparisons coming from this elf were the worst kind of insults. "You think you're so clever elf."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "Well yes, I do look brilliant on occasion…especially in comparison to _some_ people." Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas could see Aragorn struggling between laughter and fear.

"Mellon-nín, you really shouldn't encourage him…" Aragorn muttered quickly in elvish. He hadn't been able to hear what Acharndil said to Dagron when he called him over, but he more than suspected it wasn't something that was likely to contribute to their general health.

Legolas was just opening his mouth in reassurance, when a sharp blow to the side of his face stopped him.

"Shut up!" Dagron bellowed. "I think it's time I brought you down of your lofty perch, elf." His speech grew even coarser along with his anger. "Yes… I think it's time you learn a li'll manners." A glint entered his eyes, and he slowly drew a dagger from his belt.

Legolas' eyes followed Dagron's movements. So that was all he could come up with? He'd undergone numerous knife-wounds, at the hands of many various orcs and men, many times… His blue eyes hardened confidently. He could handle this. It would be painful―that never changed―but he _could _bear it. No, he wasn't worried yet, except perhaps for Aragorn.

Dagron had turned away from them for a moment; he was stooping over the small fire. Legolas winced inwardly. So it was to be a _heated_ dagger… The man may not have had much of a brain, but he certainly had a certain amount of intelligence when it came to cruelty.

At his side, he could sense Aragorn already shifting nervously. He shot him a warning glance. "Don't encourage him, Estel…" Legolas quoted back at him with a grim smile.

Aragorn glared and whispered back fiercely, "You can't seriously expect me just sit here and watch that monster do whatever he wants to you!"

"Calm down, Estel, you'll only make things worse," Legolas ground out harshly, falling silent for a few minutes, before he needed to harden his mask of composure as Dagron's returning figure made his heart begin to pump frantically.

Eru, he wished Estel wasn't here… He was bound to say, or do, something stupid in an attempt to divert attention to himself. Then Dagron would be sure to give them equal treatment. He exchanged a stubborn look with an equally stubborn Aragorn. They went through this every time, but neither of them was about to back down.

He nearly rolled his eyes at the obstinate expression on his friend's face. "Strider, _don't_."

As Dagron came to stand in front of him, he lifted up a silent prayer. _Eru, help me be strong…And please, _please_ don't let him do anything stupid… _However, on the outside, he was managing to smile with exasperating calm at his captor. He knew it was the only way he could do harm to Dagron at the moment—and it seemed to be working fairly well.

The nearly perpetual snarl that Dagron wore seemed to deepen. Slowly, tauntingly, he held the glowing blade closer, tracing the very tip along the bloody line that circled Legolas' neck. Legolas clenched his teeth a little more firmly against the pain, but remained resolutely quiet. "Oh, come now your highness, you're not still mad at me?" Dagron whispered, leaning closer. "After all, I'm only helping you." The blade hissed slightly as he turned it sideways, laying flat against the side of the elf's neck. "Infection's a very dangerous thing…" Abruptly, he removed it.

Legolas tensed slightly, but continued to look straight ahead, trying to think of anything but the foul-breathed man in front of him, and his movements. This time the blade was laid on his shoulder. It burned effortlessly through his tunic and, with a hiss, he felt it sear into the skin. Grinning, Dagron shifted it to the right, placing it over more skin. More and more pain blossomed across his arm as the knife moved down his arm, and finally Legolas gave a small gasp of pain.

Dagron laughed. "Now that's what I like to hear, elf..." He straightened up and began to pace in front of the captives, frowning as if deep in thought. He stopped, eyeing Legolas' other shoulder gleefully, as he started back toward the elf. However, before he could reach him, he found himself suddenly sprawled on the ground. He looked up into the icy gaze of the ranger. "I was wondering why you was bein' so quiet, ranger. So you want to join the fun?" he growled, slowly picking himself up from his humiliating position on the floor, and struggling to maintain his attitude of controlled superiority. Not an easy thing to do, for a man like him, faced with an elf and a ranger, however incapacitated they might be at the moment. "Well trippin' me's a pretty good start."

Aragorn glared back at him coolly, anger at what Dagron had done to Legolas far outweighing any fear he might have felt for himself. "Oh, believe me, I would love to do far more than 'start.' If I didn't know you were far too much of a coward, I'd suggest that you untie me. As it is, I suppose I'll just have to be satisfied with tripping you whenever you're stupid enough to forget about me."

That did it. Dagron may have maintained a veneer of calm up till now, but this was just too much. Like a schoolboy faced with a childish insult he couldn't think of a suitable response to, he reacted in the way he was by far the most comfortable with—using his fists. Sputtering furious, unintelligible curses, Dagron flew at the ranger.

Aragorn sucked in a breath, fighting not to react as Dagron pummeled him in blind fury. A soft groan escaped him, and he doubled over slightly, as a particularly solid blow landed on one of his already bruised ribs. Dagron didn't even let up for a second, and Aragorn found himself shutting his eyes tightly, as he tried to pull together his composure again. It was doubtful Dagron would have noticed anything at the moment, no matter how much he reacted, but that definitely didn't mean he was willing to show how much it hurt…

Abruptly, the darkness seemed to close in on him, dragging him back to the last time he had been in a situation like this, the last time he had heard this man's voice as he had been tormented. For a moment, he felt trapped, helpless with the terrible, illogical thought that everything that had happened between now and then had merely been a dream, that he was still back in that cave, still blind, still held captive by an insane man, bent on avenging himself on his elven brothers…

And then he caught hold of himself. Forcing the irrational panic down, he opened his eyes, feeling more than a little foolish. _Well, the part about being held by a madman bent on getting revenge on my brothers is still true enough…_ He thought with weak humor.

As he focused back on Dagron, Aragorn saw that the man was now standing still, panting hard, and evidently attempting to get control of his temper. Aragorn was incredibly relieved that he had pushed back his fear so quickly. Even aside from how much he would have hated himself for revealing those kinds of feelings in front of the man, Aragorn refused to even consider what Dagron might have done about them.

Beginning to breathe more normally, Dagron stepped back slightly. Picking up the dagger, which had slipped out of his fingers when Aragorn tripped him, he turned around and placed it back in the hot embers, watching as it reheated. Soon it was glowing red-hot, and he withdrew it. Attempting to return to his former demeanor of confident arrogance, Dagron spoke in a low voice. "It was a mistake, Ranger, insultin' me. But don't worry. I'll be glad t' make sure you never make that mistake again."

Far from being intimidated by the glowing dagger being waved in his face, Aragorn used the same tactics as Legolas, grinning back insolently; however, his smile flashed dangerously, as if he'd sooner bite Dagron than look at him. "And _your_ first mistake, _fuigwar_, was touching my friend." He looked, almost amusedly, at his missing hand. "One of these days I'll have to finish what he started."Despite himself, Dagron didn't lean as close as he might have.

_This would count as something stupid, mellon-nín…_Extremely _stupid._ Legolas groaned internally. Why did Estel always have to open his big mouth? He'd been doing just fine… Well, good enough, circumstances considered. "Leave him alone, Dagron…" he said as menacingly as he could.

Recovering from his small bout of sanity, and returning to his normal state of abnormal stupidity, Dagron moved the knife closer to Aragorn's face. "Don't worry, elf, I haven't forgotten you." He smiled at Aragorn, ignoring Legolas again. "Ranger, you're no more in a position to threaten me than you were last time we met. Seems to me you still haven't learned your lesson, though."

Aragorn said nothing. It was too late to back down now, even if he wanted to.

"Why so quiet all of the sudden, elf-lover? I was looking forward to hearing some more of your smart remarks." Dagron sighed, and said with mock nostalgia, "This is almost like old times."

"Yes…except for, this time, I have to look at your ugly face while you talk," Aragorn retorted.

"Well," Dagron's sneer came terrifyingly near to being a smile. "Then perhaps it's time I fixed that." He held the knife so close Aragorn could fee the heat against his cheek, and then added sinisterly, "Permanently."

Aragorn flinched and watched the knife come closer. _It would seem that was the _wrong _thing to say…_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Elladan was seething.

He clenched the railing so hard, Elrohir thought for sure he'd break it in half. Watching the scene below, Elrohir too could feel the anger building up inside him to bursting point. The sight of Dagron alone awoke passions in both of them that would have been best left alone; however, his treatment of their friend—seeing what he was putting Legolas through—was simply torture to bear in silence.

Aragorn kicked out his leg to trip Dagron so suddenly, they barely had time to realize what had happened before Dagron was turning on their brother.

"No…" Elladan's voice was barely audible and hoarse with restrained emotion.

Elrohir quickly put a hand on his brother's shoulder—as much to remind himself of the necessity to remain calm as to restrain his brother. In the dim light he could see the panicked fear on his twin's face, all too accurately reflecting his own feelings.

They both tensed as Dagron held the red-hot dagger close to Aragorn's face. They couldn't make out what was being said, but they didn't need to in order to guess what Dagron intended.

Elladan released the railing. He took a step back, and began to whisper fiercely, "This is too much; he goes too far! I will not stand by a second time and watch—" when, abruptly, his foot fell through one of holes in the catwalk. He flung his hands up and tried to grab the edge, but the rotten boards broke off in his hand and he lost his hold.

All stealth was now at an end, and Elrohir lunged for his twin. "Elladan!" He landed on hard on his chest beside the hole, his hand just missing Elladan's. Elladan fell, hitting the ground hard. As he stared down his brother's unmoving body, Elrohir caught his breath, too frightened for a moment even to call out to him again.

After an eternity of several seconds, Elladan groaned, opened his eyes, and began to rise. His right leg had twisted under him when he fell and, judging from the throbbing, it was at least badly sprained. Still, he reached for his sword and did his best to remain on his feet. Empty crates blocked his view, but he had no doubt the noise he'd created had drawn the attention of Acharndil and his men.

He looked up at Elrohir's worried face, barely discernable through the hazy light. "I'm alright. But you had better get down here…" He managed a wry smile. "I think my distraction has been most effective, don't you?"

Relief flooded Elrohir as he saw Elladan standing on his own, and at least well enough to joke. He stood and began scanning the catwalk for a quick way down. "Perhaps just a little _too _effective, muindor. Valar! How do you expect me to get down there in time to rescue you?"

Elladan drew his sword. "Well, that hole seems the most direct way down," he answered sarcastically. "but personally I wouldn't recommend it. It's a rather undignified route for an elven lord." Then the first of Acharndil's men rounded the crates, and charged toward the elf.

Swearing—and wishing for a bow—Elrohir searched for a more realistic way down.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Upon reaching the roof of the building, it was quickly obvious to Kadrin that Acharndil was right in at least one thing—there most certainly had been someone up here. At first, the snow had appeared not to even be disturbed, and he had suspected that his employer was simply being paranoid. He was quite disappointed. He'd been excited at the thought of facing an elf again—and at the opportunity, in doing so, to redeem his earlier failure.

However, as he moved farther onto the roof, he saw that there were indeed some tracks in the snow, though they were so faint as to be nearly imperceptible to anyone not looking for them. In addition, although the roof entrance was now closed, the lock and chain that had secured it were now laying in the snow beside it. He felt a brief flicker of distain, at the unprofessional way Acharndil was handling this affair. There wasn't even a guard at this entrance! Had he even known before now that it existed? Then again… Perhaps he _had_ known, and had intentionally left it vulnerable, hoping to lure in the elves he was really after. But then, it was also quite possible that his employer had not expected them to arrive yet, and had been careless as a result…

Shaking his head, Kadrin shrugged slightly. There was really no telling with Acharndil. The man's actions were rather unpredictable, and made even more so by the fact that communicating his thoughts and intentions to others did not seem to be his strong point. It hardly mattered anyways. The important thing now was that there apparently really _was_ someone here, and possibly even the elves he had so looked forward to… "meeting."

Careful not to make a noise, Kadrin pulled open the entrance on the warehouse roof and slid inside.

He paused just inside, patiently taking the time to ensure his eyes were as adjusted to the darkness as they were going to get, and to carefully survey the lay out of the upper part of the building, before making any moves. He briefly considered the most obvious—and easiest—option of simply using the catwalk, as whoever else was up here had almost certainly done. He quickly discarded that idea, though. Though he _might_ be able to disable his prey in a face-to-face fight, he was honest enough to admit that the possibility was rather unlikely. Besides, he so preferred to be _above_ the ones he was hunting, particularly when they were as unpredictable as elves had proven to be.

He looked upwards, and immediately a slow smile began spreading across his face. Perfect. Just _perfect._ The beams of the ceiling were, unfortunately, rather few and far between to be of very much use to him. The pipes, on the other hand… Those were a gift straight from the Valar. If he believed in that Valar, that was, which he didn't. But that was beside the point. The metal tubes—of diameters varying from little larger than a finger's width, to large enough that he doubted he'd be able to fit both hands around them—ran in all directions across the ceiling of the building, and they were _exactly_ what he needed.

Grabbing the nearest and most secure-looking pipe, he swung himself up lightly into the network of crisscrossing metal. Deftly moving along the pipes, he was careful to stay above the catwalk so that, in the unlikely event that he should slip, he would have something to break his fall closer than the ground, many feet below. Suddenly, a movement below caught his eye. He froze, instantly, sucking in a slow breath. Well, Acharndil was correct on all counts then. It _was_ the Peredhil twins.

The two dark-haired elves were a little way ahead, hidden behind one of the large support beams. He'd expected some kind of rash rescue attempt, but so soon? He looked curiously from the two tense figures hidden in the shadows to the drama going on below them, and couldn't help feeling a spark of admiration at their control. Perhaps they were more of a force to be reckoned with than he'd thought.

Then, as if to prove him wrong, one of the elves took a frantic step backwards, whispering furiously—and fell through one of the holes. Kadrin flinched slightly. If he judged the distance right, the fall wouldn't kill him, unless he fell on his neck, but it would certainly be fatal to the elves' plans. He looked to the circle of light where Acharndil and his men where jumping to their feet, and then back to the remaining elf on the catwalk.

Instinctively, like a cat preparing to spring on its prey, Kadrin reached for his lasso. The other elf was coming toward him now, oblivious to the danger above him as he frantically searched for a way down to the fight. Kadrin scowled for a moment as his he fingered the simple rope noose in his hands, yet again cursing the elf who had injured him. In his haste, he had been forced to leave his rope-and-chain behind, still wrapped around the neck of the elf he had been attempting to kill. He had not yet had time to make a replacement, and now, at the time it mattered most, he was forced to use a plain rope, instead of his familiar, favored weapon. Still, it would have to do. He held himself ready, carefully bracing himself for the fight ahead.

Finally, the elf came close enough. With an expert hand, he tossed the rope and, smiling in satisfaction, pulled.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Elrohir ran for the nearest ladder.

_Why—why!—must he _always _do this to me? _

As the clash of swords below grew more intense, he felt panic overwhelm his anger. However well he may have tried to hide it, Elrohir had seen the way Elladan had favored his right leg, and was certain his twin was in no condition to fight off all of Acharndil's men. At least the sounds below reassured him that the fight still continued. However unequally, Elladan was holding his own for the time being.

Absorbed in his one goal of reaching his brother as soon as possible, Elrohir didn't feel the noose around his neck until it had tightened, nearly jerking him off his feet. Struggling for breath, he grabbed the rope. Just like Aragorn, his first response was to pull. He did so, hard, and with the lightening-quick reflexes of his race. The rope relented enough for him to gather a ragged breath, but did not give way entirely. After a moment of pulling downward at the awkward angle, his arms ached fiercely.

Distantly, he could sense the fight raging beneath him. Elladan needed him. Now.

Letting go of the rope with one hand, he groped blindly for his sword. Whoever, or whatever, was at the other end, pulled again and his airway was cut off once more. Finally, he managed to grab the hilt of his sword and pull it out of it's sheath. Upwards, and harder, the rope was pulled, and before he could use his blade, his vision blacked out. Struggling to pull himself upward with one hand, he regained momentary use of his senses, only to realize he'd dropped his sword. If he'd had any breath left he would have groaned. With his very last ounce of strength, as his head began to swim dangerously, he gripped the rope and pulled again.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The moment his noose slipped around the elf's neck, Kadrin had the sinking feeling that he'd just taken on more than he could handle. Of course, he brushed the thought away as soon as it occurred. If he'd lassoed a wild stallion, then he'd just have to ride it out.

The first jerk on the rope made him curse in pain as the rope dug into his already swollen wrist, drawing fresh blood. He wrapped his legs around the pipe and held on. When the elf let go to reach for his sword, he tightened his hold and pulled harder. With a satisfying clang, the sword dropped to the catwalk. Even so, Kadrin was careful to keep the rope tight. Acharndil had given him some leeway in his instructions: if there was even the remotest possibility, he was to take the elves alive. Even if that was impossible, he must still see to it that neither of them escaped. Even so, he was very aware that Acharndil would _much_ prefer them alive. And if he handled this carefully, it appeared that would definitely be a possibility. He felt the elf on the other end of his line going limp.

Then, for one fatal second, he let his guard down.

Cursed elves.

**TBC…**

**Hmm, interesting... I just noticed that this is chapter 13. LOL, I believe certain characters might find that a rather interesting coincidence ;-)**

**The "review response" feature seems to be working nicely, so I'll continue using it. If you'd like a response to your review, please remember to either log in, or leave your e-mail address.Next chapter will be out either Friday or Saturday (I still haven't decided for certain which will be my posting day). **

**As always, a huge THANK YOU, to all those who took the time to review - I really appreciate it! **


	14. Unpleasantly Surprised

**A/N: **-limps into view- Hi! –waves weakly- I really am sorry about the late update. It's just... You know that saying about bad things happening in threes? Whoever said it was wrong. At least about my family. I think bad things happen in _fours _at our house (i.e. Having the Christmas tree fall over breaking half our ornaments, finding out we have mice in the house, Dad's truck slipping on the snow, rolling over and sliding into the creek, having our satellite internet go out for three days due to constant snow…). Well, I certainly hope our problems _only _come in fours—not fives or sixes or... –gulp- The way things are going, I'm bound to have made some dumb mistake, and wind up being flamed for this chapter… -sobs- So even if you hate it, be _nice _to me for pity's sake? –looks pitiful- I'm not saying I want you to lie to me, just…break it to me gently ;-)

I do hope you all enjoy the chapter. –limps off-

See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responses are sent – please let me know if you didn't get yours!

**Chapter 14: Show No Mercy **

With strength borne of desperation, Elrohir pulled on the rope around his neck, throwing every ounce of strength he had left into the effort.

The rope went completely slack this time, and Elrohir slumped to the floor, gulping in air as fast as his lungs could manage. Through the sudden onslaught of coughs that shook him, he barely registered the dull thump of Kadrin landing on the catwalk beside him.

For his part, Kadrin lay stunned for an embarrassingly long time. Then, finally, his brain began to function. The first, rather muddled question that came to mind was, why hadn't he fallen through the rotten boards? For a second, there, falling through the air, he'd been sure he was going to die, or, at the very least, sustain serious injury. In his mind's eye he could see himself smashing through the walkway, and from there to the hard ground below. Altogether, no small distance.

Wincing, he slowly began to pull himself up. Feeling around with his fingers, he realized he'd fallen almost directly beside one the supporting pillars. All around him the floor seemed quite stable. He shrugged—flinching again as his bruising chest protested—far be it from him to argue with fate.

Gingerly rising to his feet, he became conscious of the coughing elf a few feet away. How could he have forgotten the elf, even for a moment? What was happening to him lately! Of all the stupid, careless, amateurish things to do… It must be something to do with that elven "magic" he was always hearing about, he told himself.

Not even pausing long enough to curse the fate that seemed determined to frustrate him at every turn, he lunged at his opponent, kicking him viciously in the chest. With a crack, and the sound of splintering wood, Elrohir crashed through the railing and over the edge.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Aragorn was now rubbing his bound wrists frantically across the nail behind him. For a brief moment, he was sure he'd heard his brothers' voices, coming from somewhere to his left. Then a loud crash came, and Acharndil and his men had jumped up, running forward to find the source of the noise.

To both his and Legolas' relief, Dagron been effectively distracted. But to their annoyance, as he'd left with his men, Acharndil had ordered his cousin to stay with the prisoners, though he had at least thought to forbid him to harm them further.

Aragorn's heart began to beat more quickly as the rope began to fray, strand by strand. At least Dagron shouldn't prove to be _too _much of an obstacle. Swords began to clash, their ringing blows echoing loudly. If he could only get the last of the cursed rope to sever!

Discreetly, so as not to arouse Dagron's suspicion, he moved his wrists back and forth, and back and forth… His other senses dulled somewhat as all his concentration was poured into the single purpose of continuing the same monotonous movement.

Finally, he felt the last strand give way. Leaning forward slightly, he looked sidelong at Legolas, who looked just as carefully behind the pole Aragorn was tied to, at his friend's now unbound wrists. With a hardly perceptible wink and a smile, Legolas nodded. They both looked at Dagron. He was pacing, alternately glaring at them, and watching the place where Acharndil and the other men had disappeared between two stacks of crates. The moment his back was turned, Aragorn swiftly ducked through the remaining ropes that held him against the pole, then sprang on him. Unfortunately, Dagron also chose that moment to move. That, combined with the difficulty of moving limbs stiff from being tied up for days on end, and a body more than a little sore from various "friendly encounters" with Dagron, threw Aragorn's aim off. He hit Dagron at an awkward angle, merely causing him to stumble. Fortunately, as he stumbled, he dropped the hot dagger he'd still been clutching in his good hand.

Aragorn recovered first, quickly landing a solid punch to Dagron's stomach. It was amazing, really, just how _good_ doing something like that could feel… But he didn't have long to dwell on his satisfaction.

Instead of doubling over, or even gasping, Dagron only gave a animal-like roar of rage and clumsily swept back at him with his fist. Aragorn dodged to the side, taking the opening to land a second punch. Dagron saw it coming this time and tried to back away, out of Aragorn's reach, but tripped. In one quick movement, Aragorn leapt forward and grabbed Dagron's spare dagger out of the sheath at his side.

Legolas, meanwhile, had been urgently fighting against his own bonds, trying to ignore the still-searing pain from his burns. There was virtually no slack to work with in the ropes, and he was quickly finding the struggle to be a losing one. After some minutes, he had succeeded only in pushing the ropes that held his torso and arms against the pole behind him upwards slightly. Since his wrists were still bound on the other side of the beam, this gave him little more freedom than the ability to twist his hands to one side or the other. Finally, with a sigh of frustration, he stilled, admitting that there was no way he was going to get loose without help.

As he turned his full attention back to the struggle between Aragorn and Dagron, he realized that their fight had brought them some distance across the floor, until they were now to his left, instead of straight in front of him. He watched as Aragorn confiscated the dagger and, for no more than a second, turned to face toward him. Legolas had only a split second to react, but already he had anticipated his friend's next move. As Aragorn tossed the dagger toward him, Legolas twisted his bound hands quickly to the left, catching the dagger as it flew toward him.

It was a rather awkward catch, and he hissed softly as the blade sliced a shallow cut across the palm of his left hand. After tense seconds of careful maneuvering, he finally managed to get the dagger positioned between his wrists. With excruciating slowness, the rope began to sever as he moved the blade up and down. Looking up, he was just in time to see Dagron take a mad dash across the room, snatching up his sword from where he had left it, propped up against a crate.

Aragorn saw it too and quickly scanned the room for another weapon. If there were any, they certainly weren't close enough for him to find them in time.

_Obviously, _a remote part his brain reminded him sarcastically. _The men _would _have taken their weapons with them when they went after Elladan and Elrohir._

The reminder of his brothers brought back the need for haste. Dagron lunged, sword leveled at him, and he began to duck and dodge to keep from being impaled. If he failed now, his brothers' lives could depend on it—and he couldn't keep this up forever.

Time for something a little unorthodox.

Dagron's sword hissed past him, nearly skinning his shoulder as he sidestepped. Thankfully, Dagron's efforts with the broadsword were costing him as much energy as Aragorn was using avoiding him. He was panting now, his movements slower, less deliberate, and more frenzied.

As Dagron's sword arched over his head, Aragorn dove forward and grabbed a board that lay a few feet away. It wasn't quite as long as he would have liked it to be, but it was certainly longer than his opponent's sword. Maneuvering the awkward piece of wood as quickly as he could, he swung it towards Dagron.

Legolas found two reasons to smile, as his ropes gave way and Aragorn's board cracked down on Dagron's wrist, causing him to drop his sword. However, only a second later, he found equal reason to frown as a sizzling sound drew his attention away, and he caught the faint smell of smoke. He looked down and saw a thin line of fire creeping along the edges of some of the dry stubble that was scattered across the floor. The cause of the flames—Dagron's now-cooling dagger—lay nestled at his feet. Reacting quickly, he stamped the flames out before they had a chance to fully spring up.

He took a deep breath, and looked for an opening to join Aragorn in the fight, without getting in his friend's way at an inconvenient moment. However, Aragorn seemed to be handling Dagron quite well enough on his own at the moment. Now defenseless save for his wits—which were scarce—Dagron was resorting to glaring, as if he hoped it might be fatal. But his pitiful excuse for a fierce look didn't do half justice to the looks Aragorn was used to receiving from Elrond.

And so, unfazed, he continued to wield the board in a style that would have made his brothers proud. First it collided with the side of Dagron's head with a highly satisfying _crack_, then, seconds later, he brought it upwards. It hit the other man's chin, jerking his head back. Finally going limp, Dagron slumped to the floor.

Dropping his board, Aragorn abandoned it in favor if his now-defeated opponent's sword. Breathless, his aching body reminding him quite firmly that he wasn't in the best condition to be attempting a fight with _anyone_, Aragorn smiled faintly at Legolas. "Come on, mellon-nín, there's no telling how much trouble those brothers of mine have gotten themselves into." He motioned. "It's time for the captives to rescue the rescuers."

Legolas nodded, and was about to follow his friend, when that familiar burning smell assailed his senses again. He opened his mouth to halt Aragorn, but then decided against it. Let him go to his brothers. He'd take care of this and then join him. At any rate, the human had already darted off and was out of sight, leaving him little choice. He turned to discover the cause.

It wasn't hard.

Unnoticed in the chaos of their fight, either Dagron or Aragorn had stumbled against the metal cauldron in which the fire was burning, knocking out one of the half-burnt logs. Already, in the moment it took him to react, orange tongues of fire were beginning to spread rapidly across the floor. Legolas moved quickly to smother the flames, stamping them out with his feet, but even as he subdued one area, more flames spread to a new one.

As if the Valar had felt he wasn't in enough trouble already, they decided to add new complications. They were thoughtful enough, though, to send him a warning—if only a few seconds beforehand. Suddenly, intensely, bits and pieces of advice were coming back to him, for no apparent reason. Was it something Thranduil had said? Lord Elrond? Or perhaps Glorfindel?

_One simple, but very important rule you must never forget Legolas…_

Another flame shot up, disrupting his focus. Elbereth, it was getting hot in here.

_Legolas, are you listening to me? Focus. You must remember: never—_never_—turn your back on an enemy until you are _certain _they are dead. Make very certain, young one, or a "defeated" foe could be your death. A fight isn't over until one of you is dead, or completely incapacitated. And one thing you must always assume: your opponent will show you no mercy._

If he hadn't been so busy at the moment, he might have rolled his eyes. Eru, what was _this _all about? It wasn't as if he'd left some deadly foe just lying back there unconscious…

_Eru_.

He turned, but not quickly enough. Dagron was charging, a dagger in one hand. Just before the inevitable impact, a small detached part of his mind berated him fiercely for having left the hot dagger lying on the floor. Unless Dagron had an unlimited supply of weapons stored about his person, he must have found the dagger he had dropped earlier, when Aragorn had slammed into him.

Fortunately, Legolas' sudden movement saved him from fatal injury, but pain lanced up his arm as the blade grazed his burnt shoulder, slicing the already raw skin. He stifled a cry of pain, stumbling backwards as Dagron's full momentum barreled into him. They both lost their grasp on their weapons, as they fell with the impact, Dagron slamming down squarely on Legolas' chest, effectively knocking the wind from his lungs. Legolas gasped as the considerable weight of his opponent pinned him to the floor.

Dagron was chuckling now as he straddled the incapacitated elf beneath him, reaching to retrieve his lost weapon, which had clattered to the ground not far from where they lay.

Legolas, however, recovered more swiftly than Dagron had expected. Waiting for the opportune moment, he jerked his knee up between Dagron's legs as hard as he could. Dagron grunted, but did not curl up in misery as many men would have—and as Legolas might have hoped he would. He was distracted, but not so much so that he would give up his advantageous position. He was, undisputedly, the heavy-weight-champion out of the two of them, and he was using every pound to his advantage. Legolas was left panting and struggling for each breath as more weight was shifted to rest on his stomach.

"Not so cocky now, are ya, elf?" Dagron sneered, holding down Legolas' clenched fists against the floor.

With his brain quickly losing valuable oxygen, Legolas didn't bother thinking of, much less trying to say, anything witty. Time to try one of Aragorn's favorite moves. Steeling himself against the pain that was to come, he brought his head upward, choosing numbly not to think about what he was doing. Their heads collided with a crack that brought mutual yelps of pain from each. Dagron slid to one side, moaning as he clutched his bleeding nose.

Hastily, Legolas forced his vision to stop wavering. _I may never understand some of your choices, mellon-nín… _he thought wryly, resisting the urge to rub his forehead, instead snatching Dagron's dagger. Almost simultaneously, he rolled over on top of Dagron, holding the blade to his throat.

By now, Dagron was slowly regaining a semblance of dignity; however, the sneer that began to form on his face was quickly changed to a poorly-disguised flinch. Blood was trickling steadily from his nose, and Legolas noted—with a well-earned level of spiteful glee—that from the look of it, it was probably broken.

"What? Nothing cocky to say?" Legolas asked, the aforementioned spiteful glee apparent.

Dagron's only response was to narrow his eyes.

Off in the distance, Legolas could hear the continued clatter of swords. Was it just his imagination, or were the clashes becoming more frantic? Somehow everything seemed muted… Then, with a sudden jolt of panic, he realized that the crackling sound of flames was what was muffling the noises of battle. Flames that were surrounding them, and spreading fast.

He had to end this. Now.

Looking down at the face of the man beneath him, he pressed the blade harder against his neck. Dagron stared back, either too proud, or too stupid to show any fear. Legolas hesitated. Part of him screamed at the delay, while another part of him paused indecisively. He'd killed before, orcs, and wargs—and evil men too. In battle.

_Kill him before it's too late! You'll be trapped!_

"What elf, too cowardly to kill?" Dagron taunted.

Legolas shut the voice out of his thoughts. He couldn't do it, not in cold blood, staring his defeated foe in the eye… But, always a warrior first, his mind was already moving on to the next thing. Scowling at himself in exasperation, he flipped the blade so it was handle down. For now, he would ensure Dagron couldn't cause any more trouble. Later, they could see that Dagron got full justice.

_You already regret not finishing him off last time, and you'll regret it again._

He ignored the sensible voice that was now shouting frantically in his mind, lifting the handle and preparing to smash it into Dagron's temple. A sudden loud scream from the direction of the main battle drew his attention, and for just an instant, he automatically turned to glance in the direction it had come from. It was only a second's delay, but his enemy took full advantage of the small pause, kicking up with his knees.

"Wrong choice…" was all he heard before he found himself lying flat on his back once more. But, instead of tackling him, Dagron was scrambling backwards as fast as he could. He had only seconds to wonder, before he found out why.

There was a crack above him. In motion slow enough for him to watch, but too fast for him to react, he watched as one of the timbers that supported the roof listed towards him, fire licking up its sides. Pain exploded across his chest.

Somewhere nearby, he could hear Dagron's gleeful laughter.

**Again, I'm really sorry for the delay! I WAS going to do this yesterday… But since I didn't upload it before our internet quit, I couldn't even post it at the library :-P**

**As always, a HUGE thank you to all my wonderful reviewers! You guys are so good to me! –hugs-**

**Next chapter should _hopefully _be posted next Friday. After all that's happened this last week, I think I might take a break from reviewer responses this next chapter, though… Of course, I may have a sudden burst of energy, and do them, but if Bad Thing #5 happens, I'll probably be hiding in my closet for the remainder of the week. If you never hear from me again… Assume the worst. Hehe, ok, I'm done being depressing now. **

**Hope you all have a wonderful week-before-Christmas!**


	15. Trial By Fire

**A/N: **Merry (early) Christamas everyone! I'm am happy to be able to say that, no, Bad Thing #5 did NOT happen this week -g- So, here I am, traumatized, but alive, and ready to post the next chapter. Unfortunately, despite not having encountered BT #5, I still didn't find the time to respond to you, my wonderful reviewers. I'm so sorry about that! Thank you all VERY, VERY much for the reviews!

See chapter one for disclaimer.

**

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Chapter 15: Trial by Fire **

Elrohir's back hit the railing with bruising force. He groped forward desperately for something to hold onto as the rotten wood splintered against his weight.

_Muindor, _he though ironically. _must we do _everything_ the same?_

Just as his mind was dazedly preparing itself for the approaching impact with the ground, his outstretched fingers snared an unexpected life-line. His fingers automatically closed around the rope. He smiled as it went taught, eliciting a gasp of pain from the human anchor on the other end. Apparently, the rope was still tied to Kadrin's wrist. But his amusement was fleeting, as his fingers began to slide, rather than grip the rope, and he ended up slipping towards the ground a lot faster than he'd intended.

Hands burning from friction, he landed nearly on top of the men fighting beneath. Hastily he loosened the noose from around his throat, pulling it over his head as he began to look around for his brother.

The light was dim, but even in the confusion of rushing men and darkness, it wasn't hard to find Elladan, fighting furiously in the middle of it all. Elrohir decided to take advantage of his presence being unknown, rushing at the exposed backs of two of the men attacking his brother. Putting a hand on either side of their heads, he cracked them together. They fell limp, and he retrieved his sword from where it had fallen off the catwalk above, just in time to face a third opponent.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Kadrin gasped, biting down a yelp, as the elf's weight loaded down the rope. Blood trickled down his much-abused wrist. But he didn't have time for oaths, in a minute the elf would be pulling him over the edge after him.

Thinking fast, he looped his good arm around the pillar and held on tight, leaning backwards against the rope. The line slackened, and the sudden loss in tension nearly sent him flying backwards. He flexed his fingers and gingerly untied rope from his wrist, then retied it to the supporting beam he'd been holding onto. After giving his arm a moment to recover, he gripped the top of the rope, wrapped his legs around it, and eased his way downwards.

At some point along the way, his fight with the Peredhils had changed from purely necessary to personal. No one eluded him once he set his mind to a capture—or kill.

It was time to join the fight.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Legolas clenched his teeth together hard against the pain, desperate not to give Dagron any more enjoyment from the situation than he was already getting. His breath was coming in short gasps, as he struggled to breathe even with the pillar pinning him to the ground. If he could judge by the pain, he had at least a couple of broken ribs.

Dagron stooped over Legolas, their faces inches apart. His eyes traveled over the elf's pale, pain-filled face and he smiled. Heaving a mock sigh of disappointment, he said regretfully, "Oh, and it was just getting interesting." He looked casually to his right, where the end of the pillar was propped up on a crate. It was the only thing that kept Legolas from being instantly crushed. However, fire was lazily edging up the sides of that crate, and in minutes it would be consumed. Even Dagron could see what would happen then. The mere thought brought another sneering smile to his face. "I'm afraid I can't say it's been a pleasure knowing you, elf. But I can say it's a pleasure seeing you get what you deserve."

Legolas closed his eyes, too tired to retort, or even to feel anger at this human who had caused him pain in so many ways. He hardly registered the heavy footfalls of his tormentor, as he lumbered off towards the fight.

Pulling a limited amount of air into his lungs, he contemplated calling Aragorn. Even through the crackle of the increasing flames, the sound of burning wood, and the noise of battle, he might hear… A wan smile crossed his face. Estel had driven it into him, this spirit of perpetual optimism despite the circumstances. He could just picture Aragorn in his position, saying cheerfully, "Things could always be worse." For many years that elusive "worse" had never _quite _happened to them. Perhaps, even now, there was a way out…

His limbs felt weak and unstable, but he had to try something—and pushing seemed to be the only option left him. And so, bracing his arms between the beam and the ground, he did just that. Sweat was running down the sides of his temples, his arms were shaking, and the effort made his battered chest heave frantically for air, but it began to budge. Then, as the crate it leaned on began to break, the beam slipped further down, inhibiting his breathing even more, and killing his meager hope.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Aragorn smiled as he saw Elrohir join the fight. He'd been too preoccupied with dispatching his opponent to see _how _he'd joined them, or from where, but it was reassuring to know that there where three of them now.

Subtly, the odds were changing in their favor. Three against Acharndil and all his men wasn't the best of chances, but, together, they'd faced much worse and managed to survive somehow. Besides, if the men they were fighting weren't exactly klutzes when it came to wielding a sword, they certainly weren't the most daunting of adversaries they'd ever faced. However, just like the last time he'd faced down Acharndil, their greatest limitation was the fact that they were aiming to incapacitate, not kill. Most of these men were only doing what they were paid to do, not truly evil, and when they could, they all preferred to avoid bloodshed.

Aragorn's senses were so focused on the task before him, that he didn't notice the smell of smoke at first. The flickering orange light coming from the ever-growing flames finally began to show above the crates, and realization spread through the group of men and elves. Bit by bit, the fight gradually shifted, as each combatant edged toward the nearest door.

A moment later, the odds changed completely in favor of the Peredhils. In all the confusion of growing heat and smoke, Aragorn didn't see them right away, but quite suddenly Dolenil and Dinerion were fighting alongside them. Behind the two blond elves, a surge of men followed, and before he even had time to engage another opponent, most of Acharndil's men lay unconscious or groaning on the floor.

Panting, and slightly dazed, Aragorn scanned his surroundings in the dim glow of the encroaching fire. He met eyes with Elladan, who was standing just a little way off, looking equally dazed. He nodded to his brother, before shouting to their newly-acquired allies, "Pick them up! We must get out of here before the fire spreads any further!" Aragorn watched for a moment as everyone hurried to obey, moving towards the door, lugging their former enemies to safety, or in some cases prodding them toward the door at sword-point. He was just turning stiffly to attempt to lift one of his own opponents over his shoulder, when a horrible realization struck him: Legolas was nowhere to be seen.

Easing his burden to the ground, he looked at the few still standing, studying every face, only to be met with the same conclusion: Legolas wasn't with him.

"Estel?" Elladan took a limping step towards him, concern etched into his face as he noticed the frown on his brother's face. "Muindor, what's the matter, are you hurt?"

Aragorn swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. What could have possibly gone wrong to detain Legolas so long? Glancing at Elladan, he said hoarsely, "No, I'm not hurt, it's Legolas. He was right behind me, but he's not here now. I've got to go back and find him." He swallowed again, forcing his voice to work. "Quick, you and Elrohir must get everyone out of here before the building collapses on all of us."

Elladan hesitated, but finally nodded, bending over to lift one of the men sprawled on the ground and loop his arm around his neck. "Hurry, Estel."

Aragorn did hurry, threading his way through the maze of men and boxes. "Legolas!" he called repeatedly, peering through the smoke for a sight of his friend. Finally, he heard a returning call. It was Legolas' voice, but so weak and muffled he could hardly place where it was coming from. He kept calling, guiding his steps as best he could by Legolas' voice.

"Estel, I'm trapped…over here."

At last he found him. "Legolas…" The sight of his friend's face―which had become pale, even by elven standards―he felt his heart plummet.

Legolas coughed on the smoke, and then winced as it aggravated the pain in his chest. "Dagron wasn't quite as unconscious as we thought," he managed to wheeze out in a faint voice. "I've…tried to push it, but it's too heavy…"

Closing his eyes only briefly, Aragorn forced himself to gain control of his rampant emotions. Neither guilt at not having noticed the absence of his friend sooner, or anger at Dagron for having left him, was going to do Legolas any good.

Placing his hands under the beam, he tested its weight.

Legolas groaned as the crate continued to disintegrate, and the beam shifted again. "Estel…get out of here." He knew it would do no good, insisting that he leave, but for Aragorn's sake he desperately wished that the would listen to him for once. Looking pleadingly at his friend, he continued before Aragorn could say no, "Please, Aragorn, you weren't meant to die here, like this. Go."

Aragorn shook his head in denial, Legolas' words only causing him to strain more desperately against the beam's weight. "Neither were _you, _mellon-nín."

Unable to give up when his friend's life depended on it, Legolas tried again. "Estel, _please _go! Mellon-nín, _please_…" he shamelessly begged, his voice now tense with pain, both emotional and physical.

"I won't leave you," Aragorn replied, his voice just as tense. He was now kneeling next to Legolas, trying to gain better leverage on the unwieldy piece of wood that trapped the elf. He gave a sharp cry of pain, as a piece of burning wood fell on him, striking his shoulder. But he would not be deterred, only pausing for an instant to shake it off, before continuing to strain at the beam trapping his friend. The heat from the fire was growing unbearably hot, and between shaking sweat from his eyes, coughing on smoke, and arguing with Legolas, it was difficult to remain focused. But he had to: Legolas' life―and now his own―depended on it.

Suddenly, a deep voice spoke to them from behind.

"Stop."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Elrohir paused, panting, to survey their work. "El, are they all here?"

Elladan nodded. "Yes, Dolenil's just bring out the last man."

After a few anxious minutes, all the men were finally out, their hands tied firmly behind their backs. Whatever Eathol had told his men, it had certainly worked. They had been eager to give them help unquestioningly.

Dinerion came to stand next to them. "It looks like we made it!" he said, smiling wearily at them. He wiped back a strand of hair, smearing soot across his forehead.

Elladan nodded. "Yes, but now I think we should talk to Acharndil. He wasn't knocked out during the fight, was he?"

"Acharndil?" Elrohir said apprehensively. "_You _didn't fight him?"

Elladan shook his head. "I thought _you _got him."

"El, I haven't seen him since the fight began―I thought you knew where he was."

They both rounded on Dinerion, who could only shake his head helplessly. "I don't even know who Acharndil _is_!"

"Estel might know where he is," Elrohir said, hopefully.

Glancing around the small gathering of men, Elladan groaned. "Oh Eru, Estel's not back yet… He went to search for Legolas."

Elrohir sighed wearily. "Will this nightmare never end?"

**

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TBC… **

_Again, I'm sorry I've been so lacking in regards to responding to you all. I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas!_

_Next chapter should be up Friday, if all goes as planned._


	16. Reflections

**A/N: I'm so sorry I didn't get around to responding to you all for the last chapter! You were all wonderful, and gave me a lot of encouragement, but I just couldn't find the time… You see, in addition to the normal Christmas insanity, I've discovered Bad Thing No. 5: I woke up Christmas morning to find I had just what I'd always wanted - a moat! Unfortunately, said moat took the form of an inch of water that covered half our basement floor, including my bedroom :-P Anyways, I _do _plan on responding this time, come hell or high water! –flinches- I probably shouldn't be saying things like that, or they just might come true… -g- **

**See chapter one for disclaimers. **

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**Chapter 16: Reflections **

Never had he felt so torn.

Acharndil slipped quietly into the shadows, away from the fight. All was lost now… He felt his drive and desire for revenge make a brief, half-hearted effort to surge up again, but it quickly drained away. In the end he was left feeling oddly relieved. It was inexplicable, he should be crushed, disappointed, angry beyond words. He should be already making plans to return, to strike back harder than ever, to _succeed._ But he wasn't. He was relieved.

The last of his men were surrendering now, the Peredhils and their elven friends taking away their weapons. He'd tried twice now to avenge his family, and twice he had failed. There was something about these three brothers… They stuck to each other through everything, and somehow managed to _survive _everything together.

He smiled slightly, remembering what is was like to have a family, to have a worshipping little brother and loving parents. To have people who cared whether he lived or died. But they were all gone now and, for the first time he could remember, he felt peaceful about it. The insatiable void was still there, but now he finally realized that splitting up another family would never bring them back. Killing would only bring more pain, and never relieve his own.

There would have been a point―there _had _been a point― earlier, when he had pushed aside such thoughts with a vengeance. Causing these elves to suffer was what he had set out to do. Showing them mercy was _not _on his agenda, but bit by bit, he felt the fire inside him dying. He didn't want to kill, and he was tired of seeking vengeance. He was weary of hating.

However, as that hate died, he felt increasingly empty. Perhaps it was only to be expected. After so many years of centering all his energy and thought solely on this one purpose, how could he expect to feel normal now? Now that all his carefully laid plans were collapsing around him how could he simply shrug it off? He'd accepted long ago that he'd never go back to being normal, but now he felt not only empty but lost. Purposeless. He had nobody to turn to.

Frankly, he didn't know what he was going to do with himself now.

In an overwhelming tide of world-weary hopelessness, he considered turning himself over to the elves. They'd probably kill him. No, they _would _kill him. But that wouldn't be the worst that could happen… Death was looking more and more attractive. Besides, there was the possibly he could bargain or plead with the elves for his men's lives. He considered the suicidal option dispassionately.

He was preparing to step from the shadows and reveal himself, but hesitated when his eye was caught by Aragorn. The young ranger was walking away from the clearing towards the fire. As he disappeared between two crates, he heard one of the elves call after him, "Hurry, Estel."

His curiosity now piqued, and beyond caring what happened to himself, Acharndil followed. The ranger was calling to his friend, searching frantically. Through the smoke he could just see him now, crouched down next to a fallen beam, and he could just make out the prince's golden hair and pale face, as he lay trapped beneath it. Predictably, the ranger began to push and strain desperately.

Watching the heart-wrenching scene in from of him, a sudden understanding flooded him, and he knew. He knew what he had to do.

With a calmness he had not felt in a long time, he stepped forward. "Stop."

Neither of them had noticed his approach. Even in his surprise, the ranger didn't pause from his task, but his head did turn sharply at the sound of his voice. Aragorn eyed him with a mixture of increasing horror and desperation. It was easy to see what he was thinking. From the ground, the elf watched apprehensively, his expressive blue eyes dilated by pain. A flicker of aching guilt passed over his face as he exchanged a glance with his friend, as if silently asking for forgiveness.

They both thought he was going to kill them. The thought brought a gentle inward smile to Acharndil. He held up his hand in a placating gesture "Wait." Not saying another word to still their fears, he merely stepped over to the beam, crouching next to Aragorn, and putting his own hands under it. "On the count of three we both lift," he said, in a commanding voice.

Aragorn's expression changed from horror to bewilderment as his enemy―the man responsible for their predicament... but he wasn't about to argue where Legolas' life was at stake. He nodded mutely. On the count of three, both men pulled with all their might. The beam rose slowly.

As soon as he felt the pressure lift, Legolas summoned his last reserves of strength and forced his arms to work, half-pulling, half-scrambling backwards until he was out of the way. The two men let go of the beam, and it crashed to the ground.

Aragorn rushed to his side. "Mellon-nin, can you walk?"

"Yes, I think so," Legolas said, forcing himself to sound confident, although he wasn't so certain himself. He proved his own words wrong moments later, his legs giving way before he was fully upright.

From the way Legolas' face turned from pale to grey, Aragorn knew the reality of his friend's condition. "Legolas, here…let me help you." In his distraction over Legolas, he completely forgot about Acharndil, standing behind them.

Gratefully, Legolas took the proffered shoulder, allowing Aragorn to loop his arm around his neck. Simultaneously, they both remembered Acharndil, and turned their heads to look.

Acharndil smiled at them, but said nothing. He hadn't been looking this far ahead when he'd first decided to come to their aid. Now he didn't have any idea what reason he could give them for his seemingly sudden change of heart. But he wasn't given a chance. There was a deafening crack from above as part of the roof collapsed, and he found himself crashing forward, sharp pain shooting up his spine.

Two worried sets of eyes lighted on him.

Aragorn hesitantly began lowering Legolas back to the ground, uncertainty and gratitude warring within him. "Acharndil…"

Acharndil cut him off. "No, don't wait for me, go! You must get out of here quickly! I'll be right behind you."

Pausing for only a second, Aragorn's eyes locked with his, and then he ran. After only a few steps, he was practically carrying Legolas. Coughing and choking, they waded through the dense smoke.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Elladan turned sharply to face the burning building. "Eru, no, they're both still in there… What have I done?" he whispered, the horror of how much his forgetfulness might cost stealing his breath away.

Obstinately, Elrohir refused to let his brother linger on the thought. "If they are, then we're just going in after them, that's all," he said, taking a firm step forward, his face indomitable. "We haven't come this far to lose them now."

"Let _me_ go, my Lords."

Elladan and Elrohir were startled to hear the younger elf, usually so flamboyant and spontaneous, speak so quietly and formally.

Elrohir looked into the somber brown depths of Dinerion's usually smiling eyes. "Hannon le, mellon-nín, but I think this is something we must do ourselves…" He trailed off as his eyes were caught by movement between them and the warehouse. His eyes went wide. "El, they're cutting us off!"

Two men were hurrying to pull away the wooden walkways connecting the warehouse to the surrounding town. An excellent measure to prevent the further spread of the fire, but it had the unfortunate side-effect of trapping Estel and Legolas on the wrong side.

Even before Elrohir had cried out, Elladan was rushing forward, shouting to the men to stop. "Stop! Stop _now_! Don't pull that away!"

The men looked up in surprise at the elf running at them. "Is something wrong?" the eldest man asked, as Elladan, with Elrohir and Dinerion in tow, came to a halt next to them.

"You must put the planks back up! My brother's still in there—and Legolas!"

At mention of Legolas' name, the grizzled man's face paled visibly. "The Prince…" When Eathol had recruited them for this job, he hadn't told them much, and the little he had told them had been confusing. The only thing he knew with any clarity was that they were to bring Legolas, King Thranduil's son, back safely. "My Lords, forgive me," he stammered. "We thought that everyone was out…" The man was clearly frightened, if not personally for Legolas, than certainly out of sincere enough reasons.

There was the sound of breaking wood, and over on the other side, Aragorn came stumbling out of the smoke, supporting Legolas on one arm.

"Estel!" the twins called at once.

Elladan looked at the old man with something approaching a glare. "Get that board back in place—now."

The man was already shouting orders. Two more men scrambled forward to obey, helping to move the awkward plank back across the open space that stretched between them and the stranded building.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Kadrin watched the frantic proceedings to rescue Aragorn and Legolas. He shifted in his bonds, rotating his shoulders, andgrimacing at the way the ropes bit into his bloodied wrist. His arms were already beginning to ache from the rough way his guard had twisted them tightly behind his back.

The aforementioned guard shot him a dark look. Kadrin looked back coolly, and the man narrowed his eyes in a meaningful glare. Kadrin rolled his eyes disdainfully, seemingly resigned to his situation and obviously annoyed. After giving him one last suspicious glance, the other man's eyes were drawn once again to the fire.

Kadrin smirked. What was it about fire that was so entrancing? All around him, his captors were paying more and more attention to the flickering building, and less and less to their prisoners.

These people, they never looked beyond the obvious. Of course they'd searched for weapons, and they had found the knife in his boot, as he'd expected. The cleverly hidden onestrapped underhis sleeve had also been discovered, but that too had not been entirely unforeseen. It was of no consequence. Even if the weapons had remained undiscovered, he could have reached none of them without being noticed, tied as he was.

It was time to implement his backup plan.

Contrary to what most people might believe, the care he took with his clothes and appearance was more than mere vanity. Each article of clothing he wore had been carefully selected, and in some cases specially made, to fulfill some purpose. The belt he was wearing at the moment was no exception.

Made of black leather, it had small medal studs at regular intervals along its length. A rather ordinary belt, really, nothing to be taken notice of once the rope and daggers that usually hung from it had been removed. At least, that what anyone who searched him for weapons would think. And they would be right—if it weren't for the fact that the stud that currently rested at the center of his back was not just a piece of decorative metal.

After one more quick glance around to make sure no one was watching him too closely, he grasped the small piece of metal and began to pull it sideways. The small sharp blade, which had been sheathed between the two layers of leather that made up the belt, silently slid free. It took a few tedious moments of rubbing his wrists back and forth, but at last the rope gave way.

Now _this_ was much better.

**TBC…**

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**Well, there it is! Things are drawing to a close now - only about two more chapters left, I think. Again, I'm terribly sorry for not responding to your incredible reviews! I appreciate them more than I can say - LOL, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try saying it anyways. Thank you all so much! **

**Next chapter should be up Friday, as usual. **

**I hope everyone has a Happy New Year! **


	17. Release

**A/N: I am SO sorry about this late update, mellyn-nin! I truly did intend to update on Friday as usual, but my birthday was this week (seventeen! Yay!), we had a conference to attend, this chapter needed more work than I'd anticipated, and all-in-all these last few days were far busier than I'd expected. Um... (smiles hopefully) On the upside, I did manage to respond to reviews this time!That's got to count for something!(eyes sharp-object-wielding readers) Please don't kill me! (ducks)**

**(shoves chapter at readers) Here-it-is-hope-you-enjoy-it-bye! (flees)**

**See first chapter for Disclaimer. Reviewer responses are SENT. (If you didn't get one, please let me know!)**

* * *

**Chapter 17: Release **

By now, Dagron's face seemed to have frozen in a perpetual snarl of defiance.

They wouldn't keep him for long. He would rather die than remain in the hands of these elves. He had to escape at any cost. Even if he had been content to remain captured, his life would, doubtless, be cut short. There would be no mercy for him this time. It wouldn't be like the last time. There would be no Acharndil to rescue him now. They would probably kill him right off, without even the pretence of a trial.

Besides, he didn't think the elves would risk any of their prisoners escaping a second time. Even with his limited mental powers, he could see that. They would give him a swift trial and execution—if he was lucky. From the looks the sons of Elrond shot at him every time they saw him, he was beginning to question whether his death would even be swift. In any case, he wasn't about to sit around and wait to die a slow death at the hands of these creatures. Elves were barbarians. He didn't even want to find out what they had in store for him.

No, he _would _escape—or die trying.

But _how _to escape… To his inadequate mind there appeared to be very few choices. He wasn't the kind of man to utilize either brains or stealth in his plan, and patience wasn't exactly among his foremost virtues either. He'd already established that he wouldn't wait, but now the question was, what would be the most direct route of escape? He considered his options.

Well, for one thing, he wasn't bound. He looked with distain upon the merchants that had captured him. The elves had shouted at them to tie up _all_ prisoners—and pointed specifically at Kadrin—but in all the confusion, these _merchants _seemed to have lost track of things. He couldn't blame them, they were merely amateurs, and little experienced. Unlike him, of course. _He _had experience with such things. The fact that said "experience" consisted only of these two disastrous missions he had accompanied his cousin on was beside the point. Besides, being around a professional like Kadrin so these last few weeks, _something_ must have rubbed off on him…

At any rate, Dagron wasn't about to let these inexperienced merchants interfere with his "plans". They could glare at him occasionally, and hold their swords and bows at the ready, but Dagron had already decided death was better than whatever they had in store for him. His arms were free, and as he watched, an opportunity unfolded.

The fire alone had been proving a most effective distraction as it was, but now everyone, merchants, warriors, and elves alike, were completely distracted. From the shouts, it would seem that the ranger and the prince had both been left on the wrong side. A smile began to spread over Dagron's face, and then he thought better of it as his broken nose screamed its protest. He scowled, hoping that the elven prince would be dead by the time any help reached him. With any luck, he ought to be crushed already…

Unfortunately for Dagron, this was not his day for luck. He'd barely finished his hopeful thoughts when he caught sight of Aragorn and Legolas exiting the building. He only just resisted the urge to groan aloud, figuring displaying his disappointment too obviously might not be beneficial to his immediate health. Why could nothing _ever_ go right for him? And why wouldn't that stupid elf and ranger just _die_ already!

On the upside, the elves were now very thoroughly distracted. All their attention was fixed on saving Aragorn and Legolas. The bridge was back in place now, and Aragorn was limping across it to the other side. The twins were carefully taking Legolas from him, and lowering him to the ground. Around them, the other men were hovering worriedly.

Any attention paid to the prisoners now was only fleeting, and often interrupted. The opportunity for escape widened considerably. The style of Dagron's planned escape wasn't brilliant by any means, and very much reflected his personality in many aspects.

After not much thought, and very little consideration, he'd decided that the only possible way to get away was to use violence. Preferably a lot of it. The idea struck him as singularly pleasurable. Yes, all he'd have to do was punch one guard, elbow the other in the gut. After that, he decided, there would be no sense trying to escape by land, the elves, at least, would be able to outrun him. He did realize that much. That left the lake. Dagron wasn't at all what you might call a talented swimmer. As in everything else he could do, he did it in his own clumsy fashion. In other words, he could dog-paddle.

That was about as far as his brain would take him. The plan would have to do. Never mind that the lake was already beginning to freeze over, and would be nearly frigid… Thinking ahead was not Dagron's strong point, and at the moment he was displaying the fact admirably.

Now to execute his masterfully laid out plain. He positioned himself, and sprung into action, punching the nearest man, and elbowing a second. So far, so good. He only wished there was an elf close enough to take out some of his frustration on… On second thought, maybe this was better. He'd had enough of matching his fighting skills against immortals. Pummeling his way past two more men, he thundered across the wooden walk-way, heading blindly for the edge.

The elves were alerted now. An arrow whizzed close by his face, and another one nearly caught him in the back as he went sprawling gracelessly forward into the lake. The cold water hit him like a frozen sheet, ripping the air from his lungs. But he was tough, and his body acclimated quickly. Ignoring the way the fingers on his remaining hand began to go numb, he began to paddle, kicking his legs and flailing his arms madly in an attempt to make up for the handicap of his lost hand. More arrows splashed into the water all around him, but he swam on heedless. His strokes were huge and clumsy, but they effectually carried him further and further away.

0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-

Well, the man _was _useful for something after all. If only in a minor roll. Who would have thought it?

Kadrin hadn't dared hope for such a perfect distraction, but between Dagron, and rescuing Aragorn and Legolas, all eyes were fixed elsewhere. Inwardly, he laughed a little at it. He'd finally found an actual use for that buffoon of a cousin Acharndil had dragged along: live bait.

He allowed himself the luxury of a moment to watch Dagron's clumsy attempt to reach the lake. Surprisingly, the man succeeded in that much, splashing into the water like a full-grown Oliphant, spraying water sky-high. Idiot. Arrows whizzed around the man, but he continued to swim, moving further and further out of reach at a unexpectedly fast pace.

Kadrin's eyebrows shot up, not so much in admiration, as in amazement. Interesting. He had heard before that Eru sent special protection to those who were left…deficient in other capacities. Dagron certainly qualified. He hadn't thought it possible for such awkward strokes to move a man so quickly. It didn't matter, whatever Dagron was doing, somehow, inexplicably, it was working. Of course, the man unfortunately appeared to have forgotten the fact that Long Lake ended in a waterfall and therefore all currents would almost inevitably carry him there…

But that was not his concern. He had to make his move now, before Dagron got too far away, and attention turned back to things closer at hand.

He shot a glance at his obtuse guard, and took a surreptitious step backwards. No reaction. The crackling of the fire they had by now lit nearby hid even what little noise his footfalls did make. Another step. Five steps. There was nothing behind him but the street, and then a connecting alley. It was dark and inviting. The shadows were only a yard away. A couple more steps backwards and he would be hidden. He turned and pulled up his hood to cover his blond hair, before stepping into the alley.

In seconds, he was swallowed up by the shadows and lost to sight. He smiled. Not for the first time, he was glad he had insisted that Acharndil deliver to him most of his pay in advance. Perhaps this little mishap wouldn't be a total loss after all. And now that he was free, there was always another day for victory… The thought made him pause.

Revenge? It was an interesting idea. Always it had been someone else's grudge or greed he had fulfilled. He had never before attempted to wreak his _own _revenge on someone. But, though he had made a career out of achieving other's desires for them, there was no reason he couldn't have a little fun on his own account as well. It would be frivolous, not to mention risky, but it would be an interesting challenge to undertake.

An interesting thought indeed. He would have to give it careful consideration.

**TBC…**

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**(peeks back in nervously) Um... hi. Did ya like it? Sorry it was mostly just bad guys this time... But next chappie is going to be a nice mush-fest! You wouldn't want to kill me before you get that now, would you? (looks hopeful)**

**A bit of an update on the rest of the story... I can now state with reasonable confidence that there is one chapter and an epilogue left to the story. Almost finished!**

**I will not be able to update on Friday this week, as I think I'm going to need some extra time to finish the next chapter. So, the next update will be either next Sunday (the 15th) or Monday (the 16th). Unless I get things finished early, that is, in which case I _might _update on Saturday. **

**Hehe, and now that I've thoroughly confused everyone... I'll just finish up with this - THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! All of you who review are very much appreciated (and you lurkers, too! Don't think I've forgotten about you!). You all totally make my day. Thank you!**

**-Nef **


	18. Almost Victory

**A/N: Okay, time to wrap up loose ends (sort of –eg-), and do a little mush! Enjoy the loooong chapter (hey 4,000+ words is a lot for ME…).**

**See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responses have been sent (and, hopefully, received)!**

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Chapter 18: Almost Victory**

Legolas closed his eyes, as Elrohir smoothed a herbal paste across the laceration that wound around his neck. He was tired, achy, and unusually compliant as he lay in the soft of comfort of his bed back at the inn.

He'd considered giving the twins a difficult time, but a quick glance at the faces gathered around his bed convinced him otherwise. He might have been able to take on Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel—he'd done that before—but the sons of Elrond _and _Dolenil were odds he'd rather not attempt right now. He did have a splitting headache, and if the all-too-familiar pain in his chest was any indication, he had at least a couple of broken ribs. And then there were the various assorted bruises, cuts, and burns scattered over what felt to be nearly every single inch of his body…

Besides, apart from the uneven odds discouraging him from resistance, the comfort of simply laying there gave plenty of attraction to the idea of non-resistance. His easy acquiescence was probably worrying them all terribly, but, well, he'd just let _that_ be his little revenge for the potion the twins were doubtless going to make him drink… The same evil voice—coupled with his genuine exhaustion—soon had him closing his eyes, adding to his near-death act. If they thought he was dying and or sleeping, they probably wouldn't drug him, now would they?

"Legolas? Mellon-nin, are you alright?"

Aragorn's voice forced him to crack his eyes open. The concern in his silver eyes made Legolas instantly feel repentant. He knew how much his friend was already worried for him, and closing his eyes had really been rather cruel. He did feel in need of some deep sleep, but he could wait until Aragorn left the room to close his eyes again.

"Legolas?"

Legolas opened his eyes fully, realizing they'd begun to drift shut again. Eru, he _was _tired. More tired than he'd realized.

"I'm alright, Estel," he replied, smiling reassuringly. "Just very tired and sore. Having pillars land on your chest hurts. Who would have known?"

Estel cracked a small grin at that. Joking was always good sign, although not irrefutable proof that Legolas was doing better. "I'll take a mental note on that, and steer clear of any falling pillars henceforth."

Legolas chuckled quietly. "You do that, Estel."

"Hear, hear!" Elladan agreed. "And it would be nice if you steered clear of cliffs, collapsing caves, wargs, orcs, and any generally sinister-looking characters who might be out to get you. I can assure you, little brother, they can all be rather painful as well."

"Oh, I know all about _those _thingsmuindor," Aragorn said, beaming as if such first-hand knowledge was something to take particular pride in.

Elladan flinched at the proudly-spoken statement. He knew just how true it was.

Elrohir looked up from where he was finishing tying off one of Legolas' bandages. "Well then, at least try to stay away from those falling pillars, will you, tithen-muindor?"

"I can _try_…" Aragorn said, doubtfully. His eyes twinkled with mischief. "But how can I properly sympathize with Legolas unless—"

"Don't even think about it," Elladan cut him off. "There are a few things in life you can get along with _without _experiencing."

"How would you know, having tried out nearly everything yourself?" Aragorn asked, the twinkle in his eyes increasing.

"Enough of that, you two," Elrohir commanded. "Legolas needs his rest." He pointed to the door. "Since neither of you helping the situation, get out."

Elladan and Estel bowed, and said simultaneously, without the slightest repentance in their tone, "Yes, _Ada_."

Elrohir rolled his eyes, and shooed them out of the room. Elladan and Estel fled to the small sitting room that connected the two bedrooms. A small fire was crackling in the hearth, and several large chairs were positioned invitingly close to its warmth. They fell into two of them, and sat in comfortable silence while they waited for Elrohir.

Elladan rested his head against the plush back of the chair, but couldn't find sleep. Not yet. His mind was still in turmoil from the past twenty-four hours. So much had happened, and as of yet, he wasn't certain whether they'd been victorious or not. They had escaped. They had rescued Aragorn and Legolas, and gotten away relatively unhurt. But what about Acharndil, Dagron, and Kadrin? Just thinking about them made him seethe with anger. None of them had gotten what they deserved.

Elrohir exited the other room, healing supplies in hand, and closed the bedroom door before coming to sit next to his brothers. "Dolenil and Dinerion will keep watch over Legolas," he said quietly. "He's sleeping now."

Elladan smiled, as his eyes drifted over to Estel, sprawled in the chair across from them. "And so, it would seem, is our little brother."

Elrohir smiled too. Aragorn's eyes were closed, his face relaxed, so relaxed, that his mouth hung slightly open, and his soft snore filled the otherwise silent room. "Should we wake him?"

Elladan hesitated. "I hate to do it, but I think we'd better get him to his own bed, and save him a bad crick in the neck. But first, we should take a look at _his _wounds." His eyes traveled to the dried blood the marked the young human's neck.

Elrohir nodded, rising. He placed the various healing supplies he still held on the floor, and kneeled next the ranger's chair, reaching out to touch him gently.

Aragorn started, tensing and gripping the arms of his chair tightly for a moment, before realizing that it was only Elrohir. "Is it morning already?" he inquired groggily.

The twins chuckled.

"No brother, but it is time to see to all of the numerous scratches and bruises you've collected over the past couple of days," Elladan answered him, leaning over to unbutton Aragorn's shirt, while Elrohir began unwinding a bandage, and mixing some more herbs together.

Aragorn was still half asleep, and it was a moment before he comprehended the words and actions of his brothers. It was another moment before he realized, with a start, that tradition demanded that he _should_ be protesting. He swatted half-heartedly at Elrohir's hand, as he began wiping the blood away from his neck. "It's not that bad…and you know it…" he complained, his voice slurring slightly as sleep threatened to steal consciousness from him again. "You said yourself, it's only a scratch…"

The twins both ignored his feeble attempts to thwart them.

"They may be mere scratches, brother, but there are too many of them, and they could become infected," Elrohir recited the familiar words without pausing in his ministrations.

Aragorn rolled his eyes, but felt too weary to do much more than that. Argument was always futile at this point. Still, he did feel like he had just enough energy to complain a bit. "Paranoid elves and their obsessions… You two never fail to amuse me."

Elladan glowered at him, and swatted him lightly upside the head. "I don't know why we keep patching you back up, little brother, when _this _is the kind of gratitude we get."

Aragorn just grinned.

Elladan's teasing expression hardened into anger as he finished unbuttoning Aragorn's shirt, and caught a glimpse of his chest. Even in the growing darkness, the dim firelight revealed the dark bruises that covered his skin. He clenched his jaw, easily guessing who'd done this to his brother. "If that fiend did not die from the falls, drowning, or hypothermia, then it will be my great pleasure to personally kill him."

"—slowly," Elrohir added.

Elladan nodded his grim agreement. "Yes, and _painfully_."

Aragorn couldn't help a small chuckle. "I'm beginning to see where so many men get their ideas about elves being 'barbarians'. Hearing you two talk, I'm beginning to wonder all over again about those superstitions…"

Elrohir finished working on Aragorn's neck. "Oh, is that so? Well, dear brother, if you don't allow us to finish working on you, and then _immediately _go to bed, we may have to give you a personal demonstration of just how 'barbaric' us elves can be when angered."

"Hmm…" Aragorn settled back in his chair, pretending to ponder the decision. "I think that's an experience I could do without."

"Wise choice, young one." Elrohir moved to work on his chest, rubbing ointment over the large bruises.

Silence fell over the room and, although it was comfortable, Aragorn could tell that both his brothers were still far from happy. Elladan was watching Elrohir's gentle treatment, a slight frown on his face. Aragorn could still feel the anger of both his elven brothers, just barely hidden under the surface. If given a chance, Elladan would have jumped at the opportunity to get his hands on Dagron.

Sudden inspiration hit him, and he began to speak softly, uncertain of the effect his words might have, especially on Elladan, with his eruption-prone responses at times like this.

"In all the commotion I didn't get a chance to tell you..." he spoke haltingly, as both his brothers stopped to look at him. "I didn't get a chance to tell you about what Acharndil did."

Elladan tensed, his eyes flaring with anger. "Did? I already know what that monster _did_!" His mind reeled with fear at the possibly that Acharndil might have done something else to his brother, something that the human was hiding… "Don't I? Estel, he didn't-"

Aragorn flinched, realizing too late his poor choice of words. "No, you don't understand. He…saved Legolas' life."

Elladan and Elrohir both stared, dumfounded at the sudden revelation. They looked at Aragorn, as if he'd just declared he intended to take plundering lessons from the Corsairs.

Elrohir looked searchingly at him. "What do you mean? Acharndil was using you—and Legolas—as bait to kill us. Why would he do something like that, when he was the one who put you both in danger in the first place?"

Aragorn studied the floor. "I…don't know. I've been trying to come up with an answer to that question ever since he did it. I don't know why, I just know he _did_ save Legolas' life, and mine as well. There's no way I could have left him, not like that…"

"What are you talking about?" Elladan asked, regaining some of his calm.

"The reason I was delayed in the warehouse was because Legolas was trapped under a beam, as we told you." Aragorn closed his eyes at the painful memories of being so helpless. "I-I wasn't strong enough to lift if by myself, and Legolas would have been crushed. But then suddenly Acharndil was there and…he helped us." He shook his head, as utterly bewildered as the twins. "I don't know why, but he helped us. And now…he is dead."

Silence fell again, but Aragorn was gratified to notice he could no longer feel anger radiating from Elladan. His contentment was short lived, however, when one of Elrohir's gently probing hands placed too much pressure on one of his broken ribs. He stiffened in his chair, muffling a cry, but not able to keep from moaning.

Elrohir flinched in sympathy. "Ah, I should have known you'd picked up a broken rib."

Aragorn bit his lip hard, as the elf gently felt his ribs for any more breaks or cracks. Through gritted teeth he retorted, "I didn't 'pick up' a broken rib. It's not like I enjoy being in pain…"

Elladan snickered. "You could have fooled _me_."

"If you don't enjoy it, then why in Eru's name do you go seeking it out?" Elrohir asked.

Neither of the twins were in a particularly light-hearted mood at the moment, but teasing banter had become as essential a part of the Peredhil sick-room as bandages or herbs.

Aragorn only muttered darkly, refusing to retort.

"Just admit it, little brother, you're addicted to pain." Elrohir quipped, although any effect the barb might have had was mostly lost, as his fingers discovered a cracked rib, and he winced along with his brother.

Skillfully, Elrohir began to wrap a bandage firmly around Aragorn's torso.

Aragorn sighed, and settled back further into his chair. The pain—and his brothers—now dealt, with he felt too weary to keep his eyes open another minute. "Happy now?" he muttered.

Elladan cleared his throat loudly. "Now wait a moment, I believe the agreement was, you were to allow us to tend to your wounds, and then go to _bed_. Now, I may just be particularly ignorant, but _that_," He indicated the seat Aragorn was slumped in. "does not look like a bed."

Aragorn didn't open his eyes. "Really? You two are always sleeping in these things, and I'd just assumed…"

After a quick glance, the twins stepped forward in mutual consent, and each grabbed one of his arms. Carefully, so as not to jar his ribs, but firmly, they hauled him to his feet.

Aragorn didn't resist, allowing himself to be maneuvered towards the second of the adjoining bedrooms. "Alright, alright, I'll go to sleep in an actual bed, if that will make you happy," he complained sleepily, as he was literally dragged off to bed. "Now can you leave a poor injured human to his misery?" he asked, as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"What, you don't expect us to let you go to bed with those on?" Elrohir asked, looking at the human's still-booted feet.

Aragorn also looked down at his boots as if noticing his feet for the first time. Elrohir shook his head in fond exasperation, and began tugging off the first boot. Aragorn protested weakly, attempting to reach down and do it himself, but stopped as his aching ribs gave their own protest with a sudden sharp stab of pain. Removing the second boot, Elrohir swung the human's feet up onto the bed, all the while ignoring his remonstrances about being "too old for this".

With inordinate tenderness, Elladan pulled the covers up over his youngest brother, smiling down at him. "Stay warm, tithen-muindor."

"I'm _really_ too old for this." Aragorn murmured, as his brothers finished tucking him in. Nonetheless, he allowed his head to sink down into the soft feather pillow, as Elladan smoothed a lock of hair away from his forehead. He inhaled deeply, but before he could let the breath back out, consciousness drifted away in the face of his exhaustion.

Exiting the room with silence that only elves possess, the twins closed the door softly behind them.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Do they always get into this much trouble?"

Dolenil shook himself, and turned to look at his brother as he voiced the sudden question. He'd been lost in thought, watching the Prince sleep. He was still somewhat in shock over the fact that they'd all actually survived the day, so much so that he'd almost forgotten about Dinerion's presence altogether. "What was that?" he asked, realizing he hadn't really heard the question.

"I said, do they always get in this much trouble? I mean, I know from rumors and all that the sons of Lord Elrond are always getting Legolas in trouble, but I'd never actually witnessed it myself. Do they really get him in this much trouble…repeatedly?"

"Oh no, of course not!" Dolenil replied, eyes twinkling. In face of so much sudden relief, the need for humor felt unusually strong.

Dinerion looked slightly sheepish at the revelation. "Then those guards at the palace were just pulling my leg. Again…"

Dolenil shook his head, seeming to ignore his brother's last statement. "No, the Peredhils hardly ever get Prince Legolas into _this _much trouble—most of the time it's much worse."

Dinerion's eyes went wide. "Worse than this? How much worse can it get?"

"Trust me, the Peredhils have explored that very question many times. And found the answer."

Dinerion's wonder turned to suspicion. Dolenil rarely joked around with him, but when he did, it was usually to tease him. "Are _you_ pulling my leg?"

"Oh, it's no joke. Just ask the Prince, he'll tell you the same."

"What about Legolas? Why couldn't _he _be the one getting the Peredhils into trouble? At least some of the time…"

Dolenil smiled. "Well, if you want to find the answer to that question, you should probably ask one of the sons of Elrond. Undoubtedly, they will tell you that it is, in fact, Prince Legolas who gets _them_ into trouble most of the time."

By now, Dinerion was beginning to look not a little confused. When he asked his next question, Dinerion could hardly keep from laughing outright.

"And…who's right?"

"That, brother, would be the mystery of the age."

After that, Dinerion fell silent for several minutes, freeing Dolenil to think some more about the near-catastrophe of the day, and smaller near-catastrophes of the past several days. No matter how he tried, his mind kept drifting back to the men who'd done this to his Prince and, in particular, to the assassin named Kadrin. Not only had he kidnapped his Prince, but he had also attempted to kill his brother.

Dolenil's eyes fell on the table beside Legolas' bed, where he'd set the odd lasso he'd taken from his brother's neck, after Kadrin had been forced to abandon it in the stable. He'd been in so much turmoil that day, between worrying over Dinerion and the Prince, that he hadn't taken the time to look at it properly. His eyes stared unblinkingly at the table for a moment before his brain comprehended a new, and rather terrifying revelation.

The lasso wasn't there.

His eyes searched the table and the floor. He stood, pacing over to the table, and looking behind and around it, but the strange contraption was nowhere to be seen. His gaze turned to the rest of the room. By now, of course, he'd caught Dinerion's attention.

"What is it?"

"The lasso…"

Dolenil didn't need to say anything more, for Dinerion knew from first-hand experience what he meant. He finished his search of the small room. "I set it down on that table… But it's gone now. Come, we must talk to the Peredhils."

Dinerion followed his brother out of the room, where they found Elladan and Elrohir, apparently dozing lightly in two chairs. They blinked, and looked up when the two Silvan elves entered the room.

Seeing the deep frown on Dolenil's face, Elrohir asked cautiously, "Is something wrong?"

"You could say that." Dolenil quickly explained to them about Dinerion's close call, and Kadrin having been forced to leave behind his strange weapon. "But now," he said in conclusion, "it seems to have disappeared."

Elladan and Elrohir listened grimly. With anyone else, the most natural question to ask next would have been whether or not he might have misplaced the lasso. They didn't know Dolenil very well, but they did know he wasn't the kind to misplace things in the first place and, if he did, he would have already been thorough in his search before coming to them.

"Who would've taken it?" Elladan questioned, his frown matching Dolenil's.

Their wonderings were interrupted, as a timid knock sounded on the door. Elrohir opened the door to reveal a wary-looking merchant. As a matter of fact, Eathol looked very much as if he wished the door hadn't been opened at all. He gulped, bowing his head respectfully in the general direction of the elves gathered in the small room.

"Good evening, my Lords."

They bowed respectfully in return. Elladan spoke for them.

"Good evening, Lord Eathol. I hope it is not ill news that brings you here?"

Eathol grimaced visibly. "Well, It's not exactly what you'd call _good_ news, but I wouldn't call it bad news…necessarily. Or at least, not entirely."

Elladan tried not to sound too eager for news, or frustrated with the man's hedging. He'd been working hard on his unwarranted feelings of anger towards the man. After all, if some of Eathol's men _had_ let Dagron escape, they had also voluntarily helped them to rescue his brother and friend. Without Eathol's help, they might not have gotten Estel or Legolas away from Acharndil in the first place. "Is it about the escaped prisoner?" he queried, mastering his emotions.

He greatly hoped they'd at least found some clue to Dagron's fate, whether he was dead—or still in need of someone to aid him in achieving that goal. From the way Eathol was acting, it was obvious that they hadn't caught him, but perhaps he had died going over the falls. He might be able to live with the fact that he might not be able to personally see Dagron die a painful death, if only they knew… But it was not to be.

"Yes, my Lord," Eothald said, his voice penitent. "I'm afraid it does. We haven't caught him yet, or seen any signs of him. He seem to have disappeared." He hastened to add. "We will, of course, keep searching. But I really think it's most likely that he's at the bottom of Long Lake by now. If that's the case, we may never recover the body."

Elladan nodded stiffly. "That is a possibly, of course. I'd merely prefer to know for certain. He's already done his best to destroy our family twice. I don't want to see that happen again."

"Completely understandable, my Lord. We will work hard to find him. However, when the lake freezes over…"

"Yes. Well…If you're doing your best, I can't ask for more. Thank you for all you've done already."

Eathol smiled sadly. "You're welcome, my Lord. I just wish we hadn't let that rascal get away in the first place. I hope we can mend that mistake."

Elladan sighed. "I hope so as well. Please, let me know if you capture, or find anything evidence about the prisoner."

Eathol bowed deeply, but instead of leaving, he hesitated, his expression becoming even more distressed than it had been when he had first entered.

"Is there something else wrong?" Elrohir asked, displaying admirable patience, despite the fact that it was more than obvious that _something_ was very wrong. Why hadn't the man said anything earlier?

"Ah, yes, my Lord, I'm afraid there is…" The merchant trailed off miserably.

"And…?" Elrohir encouraged him calmly.

"My men mentioned that when they were securing the prisoners, you pointed out one—an assassin, they said—who was a particular threat."

Elrohir nodded his agreement with the statement. "He hasn't been giving you any trouble, has he?"

At that, Elladan muttered darkly something about being more than willing to resolve any problems Kadrin might cause—permanently. However, the merchant didn't appear to hear him, too wrapped up in the unwelcome duty of delivering his information.

"Well, it's not that exactly. You see…" he swallowed hard before going on. "He seems to have disappeared as well."

"What!" To everyone's surprise, the explosion came from the hitherto-silent Dolenil. Upon receiving their startled looks, he subsided into somewhat embarrassed silence, but his stern gaze did not release Eathol from answering.

The wine merchant shifted slightly in nervousness. "As I said, my Lords, he appears to have simply… disappeared. No one seems to know exactly when or how. All I know is that when the prisoners arrived at the jailhouse, one of the men said they'd better take some extra means to secure the assassin. But when they went to find him, he was gone. We're doing everything we can to search for him," he hastened to assure them, "but I'm afraid that so far we've turned up nothing."

No one replied to his statements immediately, the four elves taking a moment to absorb the information. Eathol waited in tense silence. Then Elladan gave a tired sigh.

"Yes, I am sure you are doing your best. But we have seen firsthand how clever Kadrin is. I'm afraid there's very little likelihood of your finding him now."

Eathol hung his head, staring wretchedly down at his feet. "I am sorry, my Lords. Truly I am."

Elladan summoned up an attempt at a comforting smile. "I know you are, Eothald. And I'm sure this didn't result from any ill intentions on your part. Worry not, we do not blame you. I only hope the results do not prove to be too disastrous."

"As do I, my Lord." With that, Eathol bowed deeply and, seeing no one seemed prepared to ask anything further of him, gratefully departed as quietly as he could.

The four elves stood in silence after he'd left, hardly knowing what to say. A collective gloom settled over the group, as they each pondered the possible repercussions of Kadrin—and possibly Dagron as well—having escaped.

"What's that?"

They all looked up at the exclamation from Dinerion. The blond-haired elf was moving towards the window, and pulling out a small piece of paper that was on the windowsill, half caught underneath the closed window. The other elves crowded around him, as he unfolded the parchment.

_My Lords,_

_Thank you ever so much for holding onto my weapon for me, while I was busy with the unpleasant and humiliating task of being captured. I don't believe your friends would have allowed me to keep my favorite little… tool. I am in your debt for having kept it safe for me all this time. However, now that I have escaped, I am in need of it once again. I don't believe you know how to use it anyways, so I do hope you don't miss it too much._

_I hate to interrupt this letter of gratitude with anything that might be taken as malice, but I feel honor-bound to give you fair warning: I consider you my enemies. I have yet to consider my next move, but when I reached a decision, you will, in all likelihood, be among the first to know._

_May no evil befall you—before I do,_

_Kadrin_

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TBC...**

**-wipes away tear- Aww…isn't Kadrin just the sweetest, must huggable of villains—he even sends THANK YOU cards! –hugs villain- He's always been so considerate…**

**Well, this is the last chapter. There's still a short epilogue left, which I plan on posting next week, on Sat. or Sun. or Mon.—at the very latest :-) Thank you all so much for the reviews last chap, and in advance for the reviews _this _chapter… -hint hint- Oh, I know, I pride myself on my subtlety. –g- **


	19. Epilogue

**A/N: **Well, here we are, at the end! I hope you've enjoyed the story :-) I'll have a more lengthy A/N at the end…

**See chapter one for disclaimer. Reviewer responses have been sent.**

**

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****Epilogue**

Thranduil paced across the large hall for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

_Legolas, Legolas, ion-nín, what have you gotten yourself into this time…_

After all these years, it was a wonder he hadn't become a little bit more accustomed to this type of situation. But here he was, just as nerve-wracked as ever, ready to scream from frustration and worry. All morning, his thoughts had fluctuated erratically between exasperated anger, and sudden worry. But, in the end, the worry always seemed to obliterate the anger. He found himself shamelessly pleading with each of the Valar over and over for the safe return of his son.

Suddenly, from the courtyard, he heard the sound of horses' hooves striking the pavement. His heart leapt at the sound of familiar human footsteps. Aragorn and…his son? He turned just in time to see six sorry-looking figures enter the hall. Six _very _sorry-looking figures.

His eyes traveled over each one in turn. His son, Aragorn, Dinerion, and Elrohir all had…odd circles of healing cuts and deep bruises around their necks. Legolas also had bandages around his arms, and his chest. Aragorn was moving very stiffly, though he was making a valiant attempt to hide his body's renewed pain, after the long horseback ride. Elladan was limping, leaning slightly on his twin. The only one who appeared to have escaped without any apparent injury was Dolenil, but they all looked very grave and uncharacteristically somber, even Dinerion.

His emotions battled for only a moment between thoughts of scolding and then locking his son in his room for a few hundred years, or simply embracing him. He took one hesitant step forward, and then rushed to Legolas' side. "Ion-nín, you're safe…You're home, finally." He embraced his son awkwardly, doing his best not to aggravate his wounds.

Legolas smiled tiredly. "Yes, Ada, I'm home."

Thranduil shook his head and stepped back to examine them more closely. "Elbereth…what am I going to do with you?" He didn't spare the young lords of Rivendell either, eyeing them sharply. "What would Elrond say if he could see you now?"

"'I'm proud of you, you managed to get away in such good condition'?" Elladan replied hopefully.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes in a withering glare, and all their smiles faltered. He shook his head again. "I want _all _of you to report to the healers _immediately_. Do you understand? _All _of you. There will be time enough for you to tell me the full tale later. I want to hear everything about what happened."

They nodded gloomily, and turned to obey.

"He's even worse than Ada…" Estel whispered to Legolas, with a rueful grin.

"I heard that, young one," Thranduil stated blandly, turning his back so they couldn't see the smile of relief that spread over his face.

Aragorn winced, but waited until they had completely exited the room before whispering. "Valar, we are in _so_ much trouble."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Aragorn settled further into his chair, sagging against the heap of pillows behind his back. Absentmindedly, he flipped a page in the book that rested on his lap, pretending to be interested in it. The warmth of the fire was making him sleepier than he cared to admit, and even as his mind tried to think about the narrow escape they'd had, he could feel his eyes drifting shut.

He shook himself as he felt the presence of someone else in the room. Looking up, he was surprised to find Dolenil standing in the doorway. There was determination in the elf's eyes, as well as a great deal of caution. He looked as if he'd just been condemned to death.

Aragorn frowned, greeting him uncertainly. "Dolenil." He nodded slightly.

"Lord Estel." Dolenil nodded stiffly in return.

Dolenil's jaw was clenched so tightly, for a minute Aragorn felt a wave of apprehension flood him. What had he done now? He couldn't remember having done anything to further their hostilities. As a matter of fact, he really hadn't been doing much of anything lately… He shrugged inwardly. Maybe that was the problem?

Dolenil's eyes darted indecisively to his face, and then down at his feet. He didn't _look _exactly what he'd describe as angry… Aragorn tried to smile, even though Dolenil's presence always managed to make him feel nervous. "Is there something I can do for you?" He flinched at how abrupt his voice sounded.

However, Dolenil seemed to find the formality in his tone slightly reassuring. "Well, no, my Lord… It's only… I merely…"

Aragorn had to work hard to stifle what would, this time, have been a genuine smile. He'd never heard Dolenil leave so many sentences hanging. "Yes?" he said encouragingly.

Dolenil opened his mouth, then shut it again. Then, doggedly, he reopened it and said, "My Lord, I'm here to ask you for your forgiveness." He paused, as if he expected Aragorn to refuse right then and there, but Aragorn didn't say a word. In a self-condemning voice, he continued strongly, "It was wrong of me to judge you so harshly before I had even had a chance to properly observe you."

This time, Aragorn couldn't help but smile a little. "And now, you have…observed me?"

Dolenil's face colored at this. "My Lord, forgive me, that's not what I meant, I…"

"That's alright Dolenil, I think I understand you well enough."

Dolenil nodded gratefully. "Thank you, my Lord… I am much indebted to you for saving the Prince's life. I shall never forget it." The elf turned suddenly, as Legolas himself appeared in the door. At the way Legolas was watching his curiously, Dolenil's face turned red once again. In an attempt to hide his embarrassment, he bowed, mumbling, "You will excuse me, my Lords." and slipped out of the room.

Legolas sat down next to Aragorn, shaking his head in bewildered amusement at Dolenil's reaction. "What was _that _all about?"

Aragorn chuckled. "I'm not quite certain myself. But it would seem that Dolenil has decided to…give me a second chance, so to speak. He seems to have changed his opinion of me quite dramatically."

Legolas raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Really?"

"You didn't order him to do that, did you, mellon-nín?" Aragorn asked suspiciously.

Legolas laughed outright. "No! Of course not! I knew he'd figure it out sooner or later… You know, you're really not that bad—at least, not as far as most humans go. You're actually quite nice."

"Oh, is that a fact? How kind of you to say so. I'm very relived to hear you think I'm…nice."

"Make that _very _nice."

"Very generous of you."

Legolas laughed. "Well, I think since you've earned Dolenil's respect, I should at least grant you _that _much." He winked. "And, after all these years, I have grown quite…fond of you."

"Thank you, your Highness. It's been a pleasure to tag along with you on all your escapades. The _fondness _is mutual. Every once in a while, you even show a rather decent streak."

"Thank you. But I do believe they have all been _your _'escapades', my friend. They were no doing of mine."

Aragorn sighed. "Whoever's fault, we've certain shared some in some very interesting adventures…"

Legolas nodded wistfully. "We have indeed. Especially this last one."

"It's too bad we failed."

Legolas turned a quizzical eye on him. "Failed?"

"Well, we _did _managed to lose all the true criminals behind the plot. Kadrin, Dagron, Acharndil…"

"But we got away with our own lives, Estel. Considering the way each and every one of our 'little' adventures seems to be a _little_ worse each time, I'd say we did all right salvaging that much from the ordeal."

"Now look who's being optimistic."

"One of us has to be." After a moment's pause, Legolas asked cheerfully, "So, mellon-nín, how shall we spend the rest of your time here? I must admit, after this last bit of excitement, anything else will seem rather dull."

A sly look entered Aragorn's eyes. "There's still spider-hunting to be considered."

"Hmm, yes… Of course," Legolas added thoughtfully, as an afterthought. "with Ada's wrath and judgment pending, we probably shouldn't make too many plans outside the palace."

Aragorn looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "Lord Thranduil wouldn't _really_ ground us…would he?"

Legolas gave him a knowing look. "Oh, he _would_, my friend, he would. The question is, _will _he?"

Aragorn stared thoughtfully into the fire. "This could be a long winter."

"Indeed it could."

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****The End**

**Well, it would feel a lot more satisfactory finishing posting this story, if it weren't for the fact that I just noticed that this site re-arranged my chapter order… -pouts- I _would_ re-arrange it again, but I don't want to risk deleting all my lovely reviews! I don't know if there is a way, but if anyone knows of some magical way I could put chapter 14 were it belongs (which is NOT at the beginning :-P), please send me an e-mail. I will be forever indebted it you! –g- **

**Anyways, enough of that. I've said it dozens of times, but I just have to say it again: THANK YOU! Thank you to all of you who reviewed, and to all of you lurkers, who still brought my hits up! –g- You've all been a tremendous source of encouragement to me :-) And I also want to give a HUGE thanks to my wonderful editor/sister Imbecamiel! –hugs-**

**Ok, I'm just about to shut up. But lastly, for anyone interested in future stories from me—I will be writing! I've actually got several short stories all but finished already, and will be posting them in the near future. I'm also in the process of working on a MUCH longer story, which I plan on finishing…sometime. Hopefully, within my life-time. –g- As for another sequel to this… Although I don't have anything concrete in the works yet, I have plenty of ideas, so that's certainly a possibility as well.**

**Hehe, now I've made my A/N longer than the epilogue, I'll be going now… -hugs- Until next time!**

**- Nef **


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